


Your Reckoning Will Not Be Postponed - Part 1

by SleepDeprivedFemale, snarfables



Series: Your Reckoning Will Not Be Postponed [1]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Blood and Injury, Body Horror, DnD AU, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Gore, M/M, Resbang 2020, nonbinary!Kid, resbang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 00:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30131262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepDeprivedFemale/pseuds/SleepDeprivedFemale, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarfables/pseuds/snarfables
Summary: A ritual goes technically right but horribly wrong and sets off a domino chain of events that disrupts the lives of the child of a Great Old One, an academic in a committed relationship to another Great Old One, a cop and his militia envoy/partner, a cleric at the verge of a breakthrough, an Orc going through an early mid-life crisis, a trainee assassin/monk, the heir of a long line of ‘bodyguards’, a young half-dragon adventurer, her father and her paladin companion. But though all these groups have something in common with the developing situation, can they overcome their first goal among many—that is, leave the very city where it all started?A DnD!Soul Eater AU set in a homebrewed Greek/Australian setting, featuring:Maka, Half-Dragon BarbarianSoul, Human PaladinKid, ? Great Old One Warlock/ChildLiz, Tiefling Ranger/FighterPatty, Tiefling Ranger/BardBlack Star, Halfling Monk/RogueTsubaki, Half-Elf RogueSid, Human MonkNaigus, Human FighterSpirit, Human Bard/BarbarianStein, Aasimar Grave ClericMarie, Orc Life ClericEibon’s wife, Agatha, High-Elf Artificer & Great Old One Warlock/Wife
Relationships: (the latter is in the past), Black Star & Nakatsukasa Tsubaki, Death the Kid & Liz Thompson & Patty Thompson, Eibon/Eibon's Wife, Everyone & Everyone, Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans, Marie Mjolnir/Franken Stein, Nakatsukasa Tsubaki/Liz Thompson, Sid Barett/Mira Nygus, Spirit Albarn | Death Scythe/Franken Stein, Spirit Albarn | Death Scythe/Shinigami-sama | Lord Death
Series: Your Reckoning Will Not Be Postponed [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2217594
Comments: 39
Kudos: 13
Collections: Soul Eater Resonance Bang 2020





	1. The Night The World Woke up

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Resbang 2021, with collaboration from artists [Pomodori](https://pomodoriart.tumblr.com/) and [blinkfl0yd](https://blinkfl0yd.tumblr.com/) and betas JASuper (AO3: Just_Absolutely_Super, tumblr: just-absolutely-super ) and eldritchcore (AO3: warriorblood1, tumblr: maddstermind).

Sid takes a deep steadying breath as he stares at the crypt before him. He must keep it together. He’s a professional after all.

With practised ease, he takes out his pocket recorder — a tiny rectangular metal thing donated to the local Constabulary from the Artificers Guild — from his vest, taps on the tiny button and begins:

“This is officer Sid Barrett, documenting my unit’s arrival at Sir Exthar’s Private Academy of Wizardry and Spellcrafting, at the outskirts of Melissia, following…” 

He’s not sure how to describe the shock wave of gut-wrenching dread that made him spill his midnight coffee — a ritual before starting his weekly graveyard shift — and shattered every window across the station. 

“… Following what seemed to be overspill from a ritual gone awry, at five past midnight on All Hallows Eve. Upon arriving, breaking into the Manor was necessary as there’s no guard present.” An oddity back then, but Sid can now take an educated guess on what had befallen them. “So, Lieutenant Mira Naigus and I had to scale the gate and force our way through.” Something Sid has to document, as to not repeat the fiasco last year where a broken stained glass temple window during an evacuation almost bankrupted the Constabulary and got him several hours of being screamed at by the Chief. “The ground floor was empty, and since we suspected the source of the disturbance is spell-related, we checked the basement and found a stone-carved room with a circular raised altar at the centre, upon which…”

Sid pauses, his finger trembling on the button. Though travelling to the manor only took about ten minutes, the journey felt like it happened a lifetime ago. Back then, he thought the blinding flash, oppressive dread, and brief disappearance of stars would be the highlight of the night, but now…

“I can see about five, ten… a dozen bodies. Complete bodies,” he quickly adds. In one corner of the room, Naigus puts up four, then three fingers. “The remains of about seven others seem to be scattered about. Our visibility is limited to one half of the room, so we expect the count to increase.” He looks from Naigus to the raised marble altar obscuring the other half of the room. Naigus stands up and heads over, Sid acknowledging her with a nod before walking to the closest corpse. 

“Cause of death…” He carefully turns a body with the heel of his shoe, revealing a glassy-eyed face stuck in a horrified grimace, “unknown.”

He kneels to examine the corpse closer and turns the grimacing face away from him. The skin is pale and clammy to the touch, warmer than the ambient temperature. 

“Based on the presence of pallor mortis, but no algor or rigor mortis, death occurred within the last half hour.” Which doesn’t tell him anything besides that yes, their deaths definitely have something to do with the near-apocalyptic episode that will keep everyone up tonight. “Unfortunately, the Lieutenant and I lack the skills for post-mortem interrogation, but I have already called for necromantic support.” Though the Necromancy School Chapter is further away than the station, they must have been hit with the full force of this shock wave as well, so they don’t have their typical excuse of a non-urgent—

“Sid!”

Throughout all their years together, Sid has never heard Naigus yell, so this stern but loud call from her has him on full alert. His hand lands on his dagger, a trusty old leftover from his adventuring days, as he rounds the altar. Naigus is up the circular steps, kneeling over the side of the altar where something seems to have fallen over from the top.

Not something, Sid realises with rising dread as he approaches. 

Someone.

At first, the curled-up body looks like a wild tangle of limbs, too pale and too thin and _too small_ …

“He’s alive,” comes Naigus’ voice, and Sid can breathe again. “No visible injuries, but he’s not moving.”

With the relief that he won’t have to deal with this type of corpse tonight, Sid kneels to inspect the boy. No clothes, but he’s covered in some kind of strange black goo that oozes down from him and to the stairs. Looking up, he sees the top of the altar is covered by the same type of black goo. 

“Is it some sort of… residual?” Naigus asks, following his gaze.

“We should take a sample either way,” Sid says as he lifts his boot. The ooze runs slowly down from his sole to the marble, and though it may be his imagination, it seems to thin on the way down, like evaporating water.

No, he shouldn’t focus on that right now. Naigus will take care of it.

Sid turns his attention to the boy. A quick once-over with attention to ears and general form suggests human ancestry. He’s thin enough that his ribs poke through his skin, and from his size, he should be in his early to mid-teens. His black hair turns white at roughly three intervals, though it’s harder to make out a pattern at his current position. Sid recalls that sometimes shock combined with magic leads to premature whitening, but at this point, he’s jumping to conclusions. He manoeuvres to get a better look at his face, tucked in between his chest and hands. 

Yellow unblinking eyes stare straight ahead and for a painful moment, Sid doubts Naigus’ assurance that he’s alive, the pupils constricted to pin-pricks like the glassy dead ones on faces struck dead with horror—

The boy trembles slightly, more akin to an unconscious twitch, and Sid takes in another steadying breath — the second one this night. One more and he’ll break his record.

“Hey there,” Sid begins in the most harmless tone he can muster. 

The child is still.

Sid leans in closer. “Can you hear me?”

No response.

Slowly, Sid reaches out and slowly waves across the kid’s face. Unblinking eyes stare past it.

Sid subtracts his hand and swallows hard as he turns to Naigus. “Is he paralysed?”

Naigus comes to him as she deposits a few vials in her duffel bag. “Could be, but I can’t be sure. Could also be blinded or deafened too.”

Sid sits back to consider the situation. Conditions are easy to treat, though neither of them can do so at the moment. Hell, it’s a miracle the kid’s unhurt. Though it could also be plain old shock. Sid’s an adult and he’ll definitely have nightmares about this night just from feeling the after-effects; if he was at the epicentre…

He pauses and the silence of the room hits him. Besides him and Naigus, there is no movement, no breeze, not even the smell of death. The ambience is otherworldly, as if a realm of nothingness has bled through. The black liquid under him is thinner now, the marble appearing beneath…

“Hey there, little guy,” Sid tries again. He’s not expecting a response, but the kid is conscious even if unresponsive. “I am Sid Barret, an officer of Melissia Constabulary, Tranquility Monk, 9th Class.” He gestures to Naigus who’s digging through her duffel bag. “This is Lieutenant Mira Naigus from the local City Guard, Fighter Scout, 9th Class. We’re here because of what happened, and to make sure you’re safe.”

As expected, the boy does not move.

“You don’t appear to be injured and that’s good. We’re just going to pick you up and bring you to the station to be looked after, ok? You’re safe.”

Naigus hands Sid her travelling cloak, a tattered black garment she’s been saving up to replace. He expects the boy to jolt when he awkwardly drapes the cloak over him, but he stays loose-limbed, even when Sid picks him up.

“I’ve finished recon. About eighteen to twenty bodies on this side, hard to tell exactly as some of them are all over—” Sid pleadingly glances from the boy to her and she catches herself a bit too late. “… Right. The two sides roughly mirror each other. Fits typical ritual arrangement. We’ll talk in detail later.”

Sid nods. “We’ve done all we can. We’re heading back. Need to call up on forensics for a follow-up, then at the station and see if they know anyone who can cure conditions or can cast Calm Emotions. Also, check up on any recent missing reports that match his description; human, age about twelve to seventeen…”

Not that Sid feels optimistic on that front. There’s no shortage of orphans or unwanted children or generally vulnerable people who fall through the cracks. Even if the kid recovers from his stupor, he’ll need long-term support, a safe place to stay until he grows up…

Sid and Naigus already have their hands full with one foster, but Black Star’s probably old enough now that he won’t throw a fit if they have another for a little while…

“What do you think this is?” Sid whispers to Naigus as they move out of the basement, up the stairs and into the chill summer night. The eerie stillness of the crypt is replaced by a warm breeze and crickets and a faint smell of burnt wood.

“That should be obvious,” Naigus whispers back. “Exthar’s school served as a cover for a cult who tried to bite off more than they could chew and didn’t care about collateral.”

“Do you think it’s warlocks?”

Naigus shrugs. “I’m no good at telling spellcasters apart. But it’ll be spun that way. A botched sacrifice ritual that killed two dozen and a kidnapped child will fuel the support for reinforcing the ban with stricter punishments.” Her eyes narrow. “It’s going to be a long night. Major General might even get spooked enough to have us field some useless expedition so we’re not seen as sitting on our…”

Naigus’ words become muffled as Sid remembers the flash. The sky brightened up as if midday, like the sun had perched itself above the manor, a three-ringed halo of searing light—

Sid blinks and he’s back at the stone block path, walking alongside Naigus to an open-frame buggy so they can drive back to the station. When he looks back at the building, the manor’s roof is blackened and smoking.

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

The station is a buzz of activity, both outside and inside. The locals who are brave enough not to board up their houses but scared enough to go to the Constabulary have shown up in droves, demanding answers. Sid and Naigus note the crowd from the distance and walk around the station, entering from a maintenance entrance at the back of the stout red-bricked building.

Inside, the station is operating at full capacity, with bleary-eyed officers and walking in and out of offices, barking orders or wandering about, lost. A few envoys from the town guard are in, their military uniform standing out as they bark orders or wade through the sea of people. From a half-open door, Sid spies at the front entrance, which is a completely crowded mess. The officers manning it are putting up a composed front to assuage the panic, as if the back of the station isn’t freaking out as much as the civilians. In the back, half the station is manning calls, summons and the odd familiar from every local agency under the sun, a quarter is trying to set up an emergency response — something about magic grids short-circuiting across the greater metropolitan area — and the rest are straight-up panicking for camaraderie’s sake. A few odd souls are on call with major dispatches sent out to find the source of the chaos; Sid and Naigus were one of the many dispatches sent among the dozens of sites of reported incidents.

Sid’s pretty sure the summoning he and Naigus investigated is the source of this chaos, though he has little to go on what (even rogue Greater Demon Summonings tend to merely raze their surroundings and maybe start a wildfire, not cause every poor soul within a hundred kilometres to wake up in cold sweat), how (thanks to the boy in his lap Sid had a vague picture that made his stomach turn) and why (a complete mystery).

Naigus walks away from him to report their findings to the Chief as well as her own superior officer, and Sid gives her an encouraging nod. With any luck that’ll ease the blind panic, though she’ll probably have to kick down his door and climb over a few people to do so. Sid goes into the deeper and relatively calmer part of the station, towards his desk. He passes by the holding cells on his way to his office — a basic desk stuck at the very corner of the wall lines with cells — with the boy still in his lap.

“Is it the end of the world yet, monk cop?” a voice calls among the noise from one of two tiefling sisters held in custody for the past couple of days. Liz is the eldest, Patty the youngest, the two known as the semi-infamous Devil Sisters, but in Sid’s opinion, they are just two teenage punks with more guts than sense. Supposedly, they handed themselves in, ‘regretting’ their past actions and seeking justice, but he’s heard rumours of the Thieves Guild putting out a bounty for a pair of tieflings, so the two probably stepped on the wrong toes and were desperate for what little protection a jail cell could offer. In any case…

“Not in the mood, kids, dealing with an emergency right now.” Sid stares at the chair then back at the kid and considers the logistics of propping up a boneless teenager on a dinky chair with a low back and no armrests. Eventually, he settles for apologetically propping the boy up on the floor against the corner. Probably better for his back. Not that he’d know. The kid still hasn’t moved a muscle…

“Hey, is he ok?” the younger tiefling calls out as she tries to stick her head through the bars to get a better look at the boy, her horns scratching against the metal. “He looks all bloody and gross, Sis!”

“Ugh, I noticed,” Liz grimaces, her tail swishing about. “Can’t even let a guy shower before the cops talk to you, am I right dude?”

After making sure the kid wasn’t gonna fall over, Sid returns to his desk and reaches for his long-range telecommunicator, another metal box with a horn attached on one end and a cable trailing out from the other.

“Hey kid,” the older tiefling snaps, “I’m talking to you—!”

“He’s unresponsive,” Sid cuts her off. “Yelling at him will only make things worse.” Not that this chaos is a good environment for the boy and he has his telecommunicator, but no call seems to go through. Did the shockwave short it out, or did old age finally catch up to it? No matter, he can go to Naigus’ desk to call and then put in a repair request—

A brief stillness in the surrounding air, the smell of ozone followed by a warm breeze; the telltale signs of a certain spell, recognisable after multiple close encounters with them during his wild youth, and the only reason Sid dodges just in time as his office and part of the cell are engulfed in a roaring inferno. 

_Fireball_ , Sid numbly thinks as the momentum carries him into a fall; spell range of 150 feet and limited to Wizards and Sorcerers. Who, _why…_?

His left leg throbs from the awkward fall — there is no escaping Fireball, merely minimising its damage — and his jacket’s on fire. The smoke clears out to reveal the blackened chars of what used to be his office and months of paperwork. Across it is the older tiefling’s cell, the bars bending ever so slightly, like chocolate left too long in the sun.

Sid gets back to his feet and rushes for the cell, throwing the half-melted door away. Inside, Liz has retreated into the far edge, clutching her smoking shoulder. For a moment Sid fears the worst — the Fireball was strong and, infamous thieves or not, she’s still just a kid — until he notes her expression is more one of annoyance than pain. Right, she was right by the edge of the blast and most tieflings have innate fire resistance. Still…

Sid takes a steadying breath and wills his life-force to concentrate on his palms as he reaches out for the girl’s injured shoulder.

She jerks, but the healing spell has already taken hold, and her pink and slightly wrinkled patch of skin on her shoulder returns to its neutral red and smooth form. Her faux-fur jacket is still worse for the wear, but she’ll live.

“Hey, why did you-?”

“Get out of here,” Sid says as he takes out his set of keys and heads to the younger sister’s cell.

“Sis!” Patty jumps out as soon as the door opens and gives Liz a tight hug. “Oh, you’re not hurt at all, that’s so cool—!”

“You two, get the boy and run!” Sid barks as he grabs the kid and pushes him to them while another blast echoes through the station. Liz squeals and turns tail and runs as Patty hoists the boy into a clumsy piggyback and the two climb up a window and jump out — punks or not, Sid can only hope they won’t stumble into a patrol.

The station has grown quieter. The yells are more distant now, broken only by the occasional battle cry and subsequent pained scream. Clearly whoever tried to snipe him before chose to go for the more straightforward approach…

Through the door connecting his room to the wider station, a strange boy stands before him, this one dressed in stereotypical, doll-like even, nobleman’s clothing. Black hair, pale and with a mouth resembling an upside-down V.

“Where is it—?” The boy jumps back as a dart misses his face by an inch. His surprise is quickly replaced with a scowl as he turns his gaze on Sid.

“I’m not letting you through,” Sid says and throws another sleeping dart — opponent or not, he’s still facing a child — but it’s also dodged with ease. “You’re going to have to get past me first.”

The boy fully turns to him, his eyes narrowing as if facing a particularly annoying fly. “That can be arranged.”

Sid takes out his rusted dagger and hopes the sisters have a good pair of legs on them.

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

Liz Thompson, along with her sister Patty Thompson, up-and-coming underworld criminals, the so-called Devil Sisters, are running for dear life.

Liz has been in plenty of fights. She’s won plenty of fights. That’s because she knows what types of fights are winnable and which are gonna end up with her face-down and out for the count. And this shit that went down in the station? That’s a fight where she eats dirt, or in this case the tattered remains of her favourite jacket. That’s because that fight had that one element that always fucked things up.

Goddamn _magic_.

Which is funny coming from her. The one who didn’t even have to study spellcasting or learn to control her ‘inner source’ or strike a deal with some mad entity or learn how to play an instrument or do any of that annoying legwork so she can cast some shitty Minor Illusion. No, she and Patty are cool-ass tieflings, and cool-ass tieflings know how to cast spells — albeit limited — from birth because they’re just that cool.

The problem being, it feels great when she’s on the sending end of magic, but when she’s on the receiving end? It sucks major ass.

So she runs as fast as her hooves can carry her. She keeps a close eye on Patty behind her; she’s got no clue why Patty listened to the crazy cop, but he did unlock Patty’s cell and only asked that they take the weird vegetable-like kid with them so he can’t be that bad of a guy — for a cop.

As she runs, the cries and screams of the station die down and merge with the general panic among the streets, an uneasy rumbling that only increases when parts of the station are engulfed with fire. Broken glass crunches under her hooves as she and Patty push past spooked shopkeepers, friend groups out for drinking on a night out that made them frighteningly sober and stumbling pyjama-dressed people shuffling out of their porches. Side streets that would typically be pitch-black are illuminated from every other window having its light on while their occupants try to make sense of this night via haltering conversation with their neighbours as they lean out of shattered windows or the threshold of their doors.

Her kidney aches and Liz rounds the corner and pauses against the wall and next to a trashcan — back to the old hunting grounds. No light-up windows here, as this little side-street is a row of shuttered workshops and abandoned cottage industries. It’s not devoid of people; some of these old buildings still hum with the cogs of considerable, yet definitely illegal industry. But those inside are there because they don’t want to be disturbed, the world ending notwithstanding.

Patty stops too, looking at her quizzically. “You ok, Sis?”

“Yeah, just…” Liz takes several deep breaths. “This whole night’s just catching up with me, you know?” She tries not to think too hard about the fireball she barely threw herself out of range, nor the warm bubbly feeling from when Monk Cop healed her shoulder. “Mr Comatose give you any trouble?”

Patty looks back at the nameless boy on her back. “Huh? No, he’s just quiet.” She waves her hands in front of his face. “Heya, can you hear me? _Boop~_ ” She pokes his cheek, but he doesn’t move. “ _Boop, booop~_ ”

As Patty amuses herself, Liz rubs her temples and thinks. So her little plan of staying in jail until things cool over has just gone to hell… She doesn’t get why the hell the Thieves Guild is so up in arms about some shitty piece of parchment; Liz tried to negotiate as she doesn’t want every low-life after her neck, but it’s as if merely staring at some incomprehensible magic circle bullshit is enough to put a price on her head. And now they got some random comatose kid dumped on them.

Liz’s first choice would be to leave him to fend for himself like they’ve done most of their lives, but he isn’t responding… He’s gonna starve or something, ain’t he? Maybe they can drop him off at an orphanage or asylum or temple or something, one of those bleeding heart groups…

Patty squeals as the boy twitches in her lap and falls like a puppet with its strings cut. He rolls over uncoordinated, like one of those horror movies Liz once saw about some young noble girl possessed by an infernal, all twisting limbs and popping joints. Shit, is he acting like this because of all this weird magic shit that happened tonight, where the _hell did this kid even come from_ …

The kid coughs, choking on air. His eyes move, first to Patty, then Liz, then at his own twitching fingertips. His mouth opens as if taking his first breath. 

And starts _screaming_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out [Pomodoro's ](https://pomodoriart.tumblr.com/post/646043893542043650/here-is-my-piece-for-resbang-2020-this-was) and Blink's art for this resbang below! Be sure to send them some love ♥
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	2. Off To An Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha runs a hand through already unruly hair and stares at a brand new over-stuffed adventurer’s backpack — Adventurer’s Guild™ Approved — and a worn polka-dot cloth rucksack tearing apart at the seams. 

Despite her overflowing luggage, the rest of the study/living room is a mess, the varnished wooden floor barely visible under clothes, books, gadgets, and smaller torn luggage bags. The sofa has become a temporary bookcase, the actual bookcase now houses her newly excavated backlog of half-finished magic items, and her frilly purple nightgown has somehow ended up over her telescope, which overlooks the brightly lit city below a moonlight sky. Her window is open, letting in a chilly wind and the confused, panicked rumbling of the city. Chestnut makes odd rattling noises from her bedroom, whereas on the other side of the room is the kitchen, separated by burnt remains of a sliding door — she should clean that up and put out a repair request sooner or later. The University’s emergency alarm back from the war is still ringing, though it comes muffled from a few doors away as Agatha disabled her after accidentally setting it off with every new experiment.

“Alright dear,” her voice echoes across her messy study/living room, of which she is the only occupant, “let’s go over the checklist one final time, shall we?”

“ _I must insist that I find your current course of action inadvisable,_ ” comes a voice from within her mind, though distinct from her being. Their tone is not one of malice or scorn as expected of an Outer Being — the official modern designation, with more pedestrian or outdated terms being Elder Gods, Great Old Ones, or horrified screams — but of a gentle and persistent tone of a weary husband who knows his plea will fall on deaf ears.

“Nonsense Eibon, you felt it as much as I,” Agatha shoots back as she digs around her desk for a quill and goes to a full-length mirror where a checklist-populated parchment is stuck between the glass and metal filigree. “We mustn’t waste time.”

The otherworldly presence merely sighs. “ _Food_.”

Agatha nods. “Already packed in the main bag. Rations for ten days, which can stretch to fifteen if need be. Got a hardy container for water, plus a bottle of purifying salts. I’ve also got Purify Food and Drink and Create Food and Water in case of an emergency.”

“ _Shelter_.”

“Tiny Hut inscribed, plus a basic tent as backup.” The latter of which is hanging awkwardly in and out of the Pro Adventurer™ Backpack. “Plus a modest all-purpose wardrobe.” Her polka-dot bag sags miserably. 

“ _Weapons_ ,” Eibon continues in distaste, “ _for a worst-case scenario_.” 

“Dear. I’m a warlock now. I can just blast my way through.” And all she needs to do so is her Arcana Focus, aka her old dream diary, aka her first meeting with Eibon after figuring out her dreams contained clues of interdimensional coordinates. Honestly, she was surprised there weren’t more beginner warlocks running about, what with her first attempt of Eldritch Blast blowing out her kitchen door — she had blamed an unstable infusion compound when the surrounding faculty and a few roaming students had come knocking; artificer or not, rogue explosions were expected only for undergrads, not senior staff. 

“ _Weapons that won’t give away your situation, dearest._ ” 

“I’ve got my old artificer tricks to fall back on,” Agatha bluffs. Another sigh by Eibon makes her shoulders slump. “If it makes you feel better, I am carrying a knife.”

“ _It does not, actually._ ”

Agatha rolls her eyes. “I have Mending in case anything breaks; Prestidigitation for general quality of life; Unseen servant if I want to feel fancy; Find Familiar if Chestnut isn’t enough, speaking of…” She cups her hand and brings it up to her mouth. “Chestnut dear, come here a second!” 

The rattling noise from her bedroom intensifies as a medium-sized brown chest with iron studs and stout legs hops to her, uncaring of anything it stomps on. Chestnut is not the most elegant or even-tempered homunculus with its tendency to bite strangers, but it is her first major successful infusion, a final year artificer project that combined the convenience of a portable chest with the security of a mimic.

Agatha throws a pitying look at her old polka-dot luggage; she’d somehow fit all her belongings in that old thing when first moved in her post as a junior lecturer of Theoretical Cosmology at Melissia Polytechnic University. Now, she’s a full-on tenured professor, with her own chamber and living quarters within the university, with all the privileges, endless meetings and soul-crushing admin work that comes with it.

Chestnut rattles by her side as Agatha kneels by it, flips the lid — the lock is an overcomplicated array of gears that seemed complex thus cool to her younger self but is now a headache to maintain — revealing a row of serrated metal triangles (“teeth”) and a single screw bouncing inside, the cause of its rattling no doubt.

Agatha heaves as she picks up her polka-dot bag and stuffs it in Chestnut. It’s a tight fit and Chestnut has to brace against her, but eventually her wardrobe is secure and portable with minimum tears. Still, there’s not much space left in Chester and her backpack is already full… She should get a bag of holding as soon as possible. Perhaps with all this commotion some adventuring supply stores would be open—?

“ _Don’t be silly dear, I doubt the merchants will be in any mood to barter tonight._ ”

Ah, maybe the university stores have a spare one, though she’ll have to wait until they open in the morning.

Agatha can still feel Eibon sulking in the back of her mind, so she does the mental equivalent of a throat-clearing cough. “To continue from my last point; Friends for if I get in trouble; a choice between Expeditious Retreat and Fly if things get hairy; Arcane Lock for security or if I want to take cover someplace; Lesser Restoration for Conditions; a stockpile of health potions, ingredients for health potions, and two healers kits.” A major reason why her backpack is going to be a pain to carry. “Plus, we’ve already gone through and inscribed any ritual spell my department has.” To emphasise her point, she takes out what Eibon called The Book of Ancient Secrets, aka Agatha’s once-departmental-lab-book-now-ritual-spell-depository. Hopefully, her systemic raids through the university’s spell scrolls archive and rare inks supply haven’t raised any red flags. “What else is there to worry about, dear?” 

“ _Everything,_ ” comes Eibon’s immediate response. “ _I don’t see why tonight of all nights is the one where you finally decide to…_ ”

He trails off and Agatha’s previous bluster subsides as well. She retreats into the bedroom with Chestnut behind her. Sprawled across the bed is her barely used exercise outfit made up of a form-fitting wool tunic and tights, as well as a brand new leather armour.

Agatha sheds her nightgown, leaving behind chemise and drawers. “It’s worse than we feared, isn’t it? The warlock issue has become bad enough, but after tonight I’ll be surprised if they don’t start rounding them up for target practice.” And short of casting Eldritch Blast, identifying a warlock is tricky, and those tasked to do so often fall back to the ‘usual suspects’, with ludicrous claims like that a tiefling’s infernal heritage makes them more susceptible to lending their services to infernal patrons — which, again, is completely nonsensical; by the same logic all elves, herself as a high elf very much included, would be suspected Archfey warlocks. 

“ _Not just ‘them’ now._ You _are included as well._ ”

Agatha rolls her eyes as she struggles to put on her leggings. “I’d like to think marriage elevates me to something more than a mere warlock, dear spouse.”

“ _I don’t remember our marriage being sanctioned either religiously or civically, wife dearest.”_

“Ah, details,” Agatha shrugs as she adjusts her tunic. 

While Agatha tries to figure out which way of the leather armour goes up, Eibon does the mental equivalent of fiddling. She tries to ignore it, and fails.

Agatha gives up on figuring out how the belts are supposed to go and throws them back on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“… _Tonight has me worried_ . _More than usual._ ”

Agatha bites the inside of her lip. “That was someone from your end, wasn’t it?”

“ _Yes, though I do not know who exactly. We may all be grouped under a common term, but our realms are not connected, as distant as yours and mine._ ”

 _‘What a lonely existence,’_ Agatha thinks. No wonder Eibon had been so keen to keep up contact after their first meeting when Agatha didn’t wake up screaming in terror upon their first encounter — she merely screamed.

“ _What has me particularly worried is that what you described points to an attempted… for lack of a better term, an invasion._ ”

A shiver goes up Agatha’s spine. “Wouldn’t that…?”

“ _Threaten to tear your realm apart and hurl it through the recently displaced void? Very much so_ ,” Eibon casually says. “ _But doing so would destroy the other side’s realm as well, which is puzzling. A lot on ‘my’ side of the playing field are very old, and that usually means not easily pleased, and any realm that we had any interest in has already been invaded_.”

Ah, Eibon knows just the way to sweet talk her into emptying her glass of wine. Unfortunately, she’s run out, so she merely sits on the bed and takes a few deep breaths. “But why? If it was just a failed summoning, then at worst you’d have your circle fizzle out… Unless this summoning, though failed, drew their presence or attention? But any realms that we have observed are a couple of million years old at minimum, and they’ve all intermingled at some with ours, so it can’t be the _novelty_ …” Agatha thinks out loud. “So what was it? Why try to come through? And more importantly, why did they fail?”

Eibon sighs. “ _It is as you say. As to why they failed, it is likely the invader belonged in one of the realms that are more incompatible with yours. Invading that would take a couple of millennia manoeuvring in the right position and setting up the right conditions… But it is, as you say, a complete guess_ . _The possibilities are frustratingly many._ ”

Agatha felt her frustration mingle with Eibon’s. After all those years of communicating, they share more than thoughts. Though taking a second look at the ebb of emotions coming their way, Eibon’s frustration is mixed with… “You’re curious.”

“ _Despite inaccessibility, I’ve communicated with some of my fellows. Most times it was a terrible disappointment. Yet there were a few… You mentioned three bright lights across the sky?_ ”

Agatha nods. “Like someone took the sun and streaked it over the horizon in three halos.” With their radiance resembling less a rising summer sun and more of painfully bright laboratory lights. She holds back a shiver; tonight was merely a grim reminder of what is yet to come if she just sits back and does nothing.

“ _Then_ maybe… but… It could be many things.” Eibon trails off. “ _Be on your guard either way, dear. I fear the disturbance tonight was merely the tip of an iceberg…_ ”

“Which is all the more reason I have to go as soon as possible,” Agatha begins, already feeling Eibon’s counter-arguments form, and talking over them: “I’ve been working on this proposal for _years_. My arguments are solid, my references extensive… I just need to get seen by the High Commission of Wizards, explain why this whole warlock debacle is happening, then,” she snaps her fingers, “we get our resources to create a legal precedent for warlocks, establish tight quality control regulations, set up the interference array to block new ones being made and stop this needless violence. We set up a relay for communications between you and the Commission, then work on getting more beings on your end on the framework, using the cleric system as reference.” 

As she goes through her plan for the umpteenth time, she feels some of Eibon’s counter-arguments dissipate as new ones form. “And _now_ is the perfect time to do this. We’re halfway through the summer solstice holiday and that gives me a breathing space between grant application rounds, postgrad recruitment and all that. Taking a trip to the capital is not some great personal sacrifice on my part, Eibon.”

“ _You’ll be outing yourself as a warlock_.”

“And I am a respected high elf professor, so they’re not going to shoot me on the spot. All I need to do is explain that warlocks exist because of the thick veil between our realm and the Far Realms, which is well documented. The existence of other entities, such as the Great Old Ones, in the Far Realms is also well-known, even if we are unsure about the details. I just need to reiterate that warlocks came to being because such outer entities, you included, are curious about our realm, and that since they are unable to travel there themselves, they form a pact with sentient creatures which establishes a strong communication link. The problem is that the warlocks operate with no oversight. Their patrons may ask them for the occasional quest, which are for the most part harmless, yet the patron has no way of ensuring how or even if their requests are fulfilled — yes I know you specifically can sense when a warlock is lying to you, but we have no idea if that applies for the rest of the patrons, plus we know that I can lie to you by omission.” An accidental but no less important discovery during an intense round of I Doubt It.

“ _Yes, that realisation gave me quite the shoc_ k,” Eibon says. “ _But you’ve said all that there is to be said. I will help you the best I can, but short of controlling the Committee’s minds, an easy feat but,_ ” Eibon quickly adds the last part as Agata’s mood sours, “ _something_ we should not do because of uh, morals _, and so on, there is only so much we can do_.”

Agatha nods as she gets up from her bed. “But we have to try.”

Eibon goes silent, and she gets back to trying to put her leather armour on. A million thoughts, a million doubts cross her mind, so she reassures herself that she is doing the right and sensible thing. She has tenure, the next academic year isn’t supposed to start until two months, and last year a fellow at the Geology Department somehow convinced HR that his impromptu Underdark caper was somehow not just relevant, but expensable from his yearly research stipend. So, she can probably whip something up about The Stars Being Right, and that the chaos tonight motivated her for a ‘Self-Motivated Analytic Expedition’ — aka an adventuring trip. She’s already left a set of instructions, proposals and setting-out-fires contingency plans for the postgrads she’s supervising; hopefully her group won’t act too much like a headless chicken while she’s unavailable. Plus, when she does succeed, she will probably get an award or some such for ‘Significant Contributions to Far Realm Communications’. 

After all, some warlocks may claim descent or kin with their more wordly Archfey or Fiend patrons, but none can claim to have wed a Great Old One.

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

An arrow clinks off Soul’s armour at the same time an axe barely misses him. Apparently, being a Paladin in full gear makes you a bright red target for idiots who don’t know how armour works. The fact that it’s nighttime and his armour has a reflective sheen because of ‘aesthetics’ or whatever nonsense his family would say doesn’t help things.

Soul is in the ruins of an old hillside manor house, rumoured to be a bandit hideout and a squat for general evil-doers. His group was sent out to clear the camp, a simple, easy quest for early career adventurers, so here they are. Spirit’s violin accompaniment does not make him feel any better, not that their sorry excuse of a bard they’re saddled with will help him in the first place.

Another arrow clinks against his backplate. Soul swings around to take care of the annoying archer, only to see Maka, her pupils narrowed into slits and with gusts of red-hot air trailing from her mouth, roared. Her roar drowns out Spirit’s violin flautando, but the man doesn’t seem to care, and instead cheers at his daughter’s rage.

‘ _And she just went berserk. Great,_ ’ Soul thinks as Maka swings her axe at an unfortunate bandit.

Soul is just about to lunge at the annoying archer when out of the corner of his eye he sees the bandit twist their axe’s blade to catch Maka’s and subsequently send her weapon flying. Maka stumbles back, her scowl easing into a frown, as the bandit readies their axe against her.

With a curse, Soul does a 180-degree turn and quite literally throws himself against Maka. The axe thumps against his chest plate and makes his whole armour vibrate — that’s going to bruise — but at least she doesn’t have an axe buried in her chest.

The bandit takes a step back, shaken and confused. They probably just realised that Soul’s armour is not made of some random salvaged metal but a proper custom-made set befitting of a ‘proper’ Paladin and so on, and why his dinky axe barely scratched the leaf-like filigree. 

Still, Soul falls on his side and another subsequent thunk has him cursing the archer, though he didn’t feel any arrow bounce off his armour this time. Soul looks back to Maka and sees an arrow on the ground by Maka’s leg, its tip bloody.

Soul looks up at Maka’s leg, which is covered in scales below the knee. The leg itself lost any semblance of human anatomy because of its bent tibia, elongated metatarsals and spread out talons serving as a heel — one time he likened them to chicken legs, which earned him a smack on the head and a furious blush — and the red scales makes it hard to distinguish blood, but he can see a small trickle from the inner half. The arrow must have only grazed her, with her scales deflecting most of the damage, but still….

“Hey!” comes Spirit’s furious voice as the violin pauses and Soul feels a headache coming on. He looks back to Spirit approaching them, completely unaware of his surroundings like a proper idiot.

The bandit next to him seems to follow Soul’s line of thought, for they ready their axe and lunge at the apparently unsuspecting bard.

Spirit catches the incoming axe by the handle and yanks it and its owner to the ground with one hand, while the other reaches for the axe on his back. The bandit pales even as Spirit ignores him to glare at Soul. “Hey, isn’t it your job to protect my precious little angel?! You’re a Paladin, aren’t you?!”

Soul lets out a groan, soon accompanied by the bard’s yell of fury. And now their only support unit in this disaster of a party has gone full barbarian. Superb.

Following that, Maka looks between Soul, the bandit, the archer and her out-of-reach axe, straightens her shoulder, tilts her head back and lets out another deafening roar.

Soul falls on his behind and flinches at the sound and covers one ear, feeling his headache intensify. And now their half-dragon barbarian is frenzied.

If Soul didn’t know her, he’d say it was because she wanted to impress her dad.

His mood is not improved when he feels a tug at his armour, and his stomach drops in quiet resignation as he goes airborne. Maka throwing him like a cannonball to their enemies after she frenzies is almost routine now.

His armour takes the brunt of his damage, though his chest aches even more now. Still Soul gets up, readies his scythe and finally gets around to swinging it against the annoying archer, just in time to see Maka yank the remaining bandit by the straps of their leather armour and throw them against the now-concussed archer, downing them both. Spirit has already run off where the rest of their party is fighting some leftover bandits, and Soul is left alone with Maka who is eyeing the unconscious bandits like a tasty treat.

“Hey,” Soul says as Maka turns to face him with murder on her face and sparks coming out of her mouth, and he tries not to think about that one story of a rogue Paladin who got eaten by a dragon. “Fight’s over, snap out of it.”

Maka looks around them, takes a few deep breaths and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, the fire is gone and her pupils are round. “Hey. I guess we won?”

“You threw me. Again.”

Her scales cover her temples and part of her cheek, but the rest of the skin goes bright red. “Sorry! I got lost in the moment—”

“It’s fine.” It was pretty cool actually, but Soul’s remaining self-respect will not admit that out loud yet. “But you kept leaving yourself open. Can’t cover you all the time, you know.”

She gives him a sheepish grin and scratches a scale on her cheek with a claw-like fingernail. “Ah, whoops. Then again, I am a barbarian so I can take a couple of hits, huh?”

Soul sighs, not sure how to explain that part of being a Paladin, ‘trainee’ oath or not, means that he can’t exactly let her get thrashed willy-nilly. “You got nicked, let me get a look at that chicken leg of yours—”

“Stop calling them chicken legs!” Maka yells and gives Soul a light shove that throws him completely off balance and on his ass for the third time tonight.

After Maka helps him get up with his heavy armour, the rest of their merry band is already making preparations to depart. He can see shapes move through the dark remnants of the manor house, rounding up unconscious bandits and yelling out orders. Soul settles for healing his own injuries, then Maka’s, and decides not to bring up his oath at all. It was a ‘trainee’ oath after all, a preliminary one made by Paladins who are too young or who have the means to circumvent some of the more restraining aspects of the class by family prestige and a lot of money. Soul supposes he’s lucky in the latter matter, as it is by the sheer reputation of the Evans family as renowned Paladins that he hasn’t been forced into taking a ‘proper’ oath. Not that he wants to choose one in the first place, each one is lamer than the other… Though if he picked one, he could probably change it rather painlessly with some minor faux-repentance session at the local temple…

Damn it, all the reason he joined this little adventurer troupe was to get some more real-life experience, but instead he’s stuck fighting bandits—

“Maka~!” Spirit’s singsong voice cuts Soul off from his thoughts.

Speaking of reasons Soul is considering just biting the bullet and taking up an oath…

The two turn to see Maka’s dad run to her, wildflowers and vines sprouting and tangling around his feet — something to do with how he rages, Soul remembers, but he doesn’t know much about barbarians and doesn’t really care how the guy fights as long as he doesn’t give him too much grief. “You did great sweetie~!”

Maka’s gaze could have her mistaken for an ice dragon. “What do _you_ want?”

Spirit slows his approach and his happy facade falters for a split second, but he still gives his daughter a bright, warm smile. “Well, the rest of the group just finished clearing off all the bandits. All that’s left is to hand them in and celebrate!”

Maka’s scowl deepens into a molten sear. “You mean you’ll go to the tavern and ‘hang out’ with the barmaid.” 

“Ah, well…” Spirit’s smile falls, the guy’s guilt has probably caught up to him. 

Soul lets the two argue as he leans back and looks over the hill they ended up on, a rocky outcropping on the slope of the much larger circular mountain range that circles the city below it before it gives way to the sea. They ended up having a nice view of Melissia, the so-called former capital of the world. Before them is a sea of stout buildings and ruins, illuminated by hundred little orange gaslights. There’s no wind, so the bay is equally calm, only a few lights seen at the bay’s harbour, probably yachts out for a ‘historic’ cruise or whatever nonsense his family got invited to. 

Spirit coughs to regain his composure. “Hey! This completes your internship with the Adventurers Guild! We just have to pop by their HQ at Stinpoli to get the official documents—!”

Spirit pauses and Soul thinks he’s finally run out of steam until he notices a light out of the corner of his eye. He turns to see Spirit and Maka stare at a thin column of white light coming from the slope of a mountain opposite to them. The column of light flickers and rises into the clouds like reverse lighting. Below and around it, the city lights go out one after the other, like… 

“Get down!” Spirit yells and his face hits dirt as the shockwave reaches them and it’s like being punched by an Orc. Soul tries to get up only for his vision to explode in light and he falls back down again, shielding his eyes. He hears Maka yelp and Spirit grunt as well. Soul’s stomach lurches and a deep-seated dread runs through him, making his limbs heavy and unresponsive. He closes his eyes but the light paints his inner eyelids red in three searing lines. Someone behind them — a bandit? He remembers facing a warlock during this mess — yells then screams then begs for his life.

The light grows brighter and Soul fears he’ll go blind. He’s fully trembling as if submerged in ice, which is ridiculous because he is too confused to be properly terrified.

“Soul!” comes Maka’s voice as Soul is laying on his side. He feels a hand, slightly larger with sharp claws and rough skin, grab his and give it a tight squeeze. He dares peek through dried grass and sees that the light is coming from that same place, an inconspicuous hill with a few sparse mansions that make up the city’s wealthy northern suburbs. 

The light flashes and the next thing he knows is that he is laying flat on his back. The stars in the sky are spinning and coagulating into three concentric circles, where all he can do is stare as they disappear and a colourless void expands and overtakes—

Soul blinks and an ordinary night sky greets him. The light is gone, the bandit has stopped screaming. His headache is turning into a migraine.

He rolls to his side to see Maka sitting up, starting over the hill at the city, still clenching his hand. “W-What… what was that?”

Spirit coughs as he slowly gets up, occasionally twitching as if under the after-effects of electrocution. He gives Maka a double-over, seems to relax at her lack of injuries, only to tense as new shouts of shock and confusion come from the other side of the manor where the rest of their group is.

“S-Stay where you are,” Spirit says as he looks between them and the rest of the party. “I’ll be right back.”

Soul slowly gets up and looks over at the unconscious bandits. One of them is lying close to them, as if they tried to get up and make a run for the city before…

Maka notices him too, and her eyes go wide. “Is he…?”

Soul kneels down and lays his hands on the guy’s side. His healing goes through so… “He’s out cold. Still alive.” Sane is up for debate.

Maka looks at the fallen bandit, then the city over the hill, with more dot-like lights appearing with each passing moment. “Do you think people are hurt?”

The only thing Soul can do is sit up and take a few deep breaths. “They’re alive enough to turn on the lights.”


	3. Only Fumes Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stein is running on caffeine fumes, which is typical of his weekday mornings.

However, today is a Sunday, and the sun is just rising across the horizon, so Stein feels less like his usual sleep-deprived self and more like he’s about to transcend dimensions by sheer exhaustion. He’s already gone past the hyper-active phase of sleep deprivation and is fairly certain he’s finishing up on the ‘eyelids feel like anchors’ phase. 

Well, if anything it will be interesting to see if the symptoms of sleep deprivation on him are similar to a human’s, there’s this paper he read a while back—

He’s interrupted by a fake cough and the pleasant haze of being lost in his own thoughts is replaced by the crowded, antiseptic-heavy ambience of quickly built emergency treatment tents. 

Stein rubs his eyes and focuses on the person in front of him, an elf man in fancy pyjamas who apparently decided to skip all the available medics at the entrance of the tent and headed to the very back, where Stein was taking a small break after several healing sessions and assisting at a Resurrection.

“Excuse me—”

“I’m on break. Go to someone else.”

“Excuse me!” The man repeated, then hissed as he clenched his arm. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

Stein does have a PhD after he took on combat medic training so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the mandatory conscription after graduating; partly because he doesn’t like the idea of being surrounded by meathead idiots for half a year as well as because Dr Gorgon’s seminal paper on the discovery of souls got published in his semifinal year, so every Principal Investigator, Group Leader, and aspiring researcher like himself wanted to get in on it.

And Stein did get in on it. It took a PhD laser-focused on some minor details about the connection between a soul and the physical body, then several postdoc projects about the mechanisms of severing and re-establishing that connection, but Stein has done it.

Or has almost, _probably,_ done it. His breakthrough happened last night, right before the sky opened up and threatened to swallow them whole. He needs to replicate his tests on different animal models, assemble his notes in a more coherent fashion, have an inevitable showdown with the ethics committee, but he is so _close_ —

“Well, I would like to be seen by a _proper_ medic—” the man continues, breaking Stein out of his thoughts. 

Stein doesn’t understand what the man initially means until he looks over at the medics on call: A stout, bearded dwarf lady from the Central Hospital who was in charge of them all, a trainee bugbear shadowing her, a couple of Kobold’s from a fellow research group, and an erroneously assigned and very confused changeling vet — they initially looked like a human but over the course of the night exhaustion took its toll on their form — who has been relegated to a nurse.

Stein looks back to the man. He’s an elf, high elf probably, in nice silken pyjamas and fluffy slippers, with thinning white hair and keeps glancing at the top of Stein’s head. And something was telling Stein that he isn’t looking at the screw going through his head, but at the occasional feather that peaks through his hair.

So, this random idiot recognised his Aasimar heritage and thinks they’d receive the 5 star treatment.

“—And in any case,” the man continues and narrows his eyes at Stein’s lap where he lazily holds a half-finished cigarette, “should you be smoking in the first place, young man?”

Stein takes a very long drag of his cigarette in response, puts it out in an overflowing ashtray and looks at the man’s clenched arm. His elbow is flexed and pointing outwards, while his shoulders are squared. Dislocation, probably anterior.

“Fell off someplace during the panic?” Stein asks.

The man’s frown melts in relief and exasperation. “Finally! I was going down the stairs when the shockwave hit me. Caught the railing just in time to prevent a worse fall, thank the gods, but my arm twisted in a bad way and it’s been like this ever since. Can’t move it at all! I tried to get some decent help, you’d think they’d help an old man, but all they did was give me painkillers and put me in the queue, can you believe that?! I even walked to my private GP’s office only to see him being carted off to one of these tents! I work at Equi-Rebel, you can’t imagine the work I have to do now that everything’s gone belly up, but I haven’t been able to get on my office because—”

Stein stopped listening after the first couple of sentences as he tried to recall what the procedure was for dislocated shoulders.

He eventually manoeuvres the man, who goes silent, to his injured side and taps his deltoid area with a finger. “Feel that?”

The man nods and Stein repeats the gesture under his palm. The man nods again.

So, no loss of feeling. His wrist isn’t dropped, so overall, no sign of nerve damage. Probably. The man’s impatient gaze burns a hole in his head.

“Great then,” Stein says and cracks his fingers. He grabs the man’s arm, ignores his protests and manoeuvres the joint back into place with a satisfying pop, followed by a gasp, then pained curses. There are a few more things he’s supposed to test before popping the shoulder back into place, but he is very, very tired. 

“Argh-!” The man reels back once Stein releases him, still clutching his arm. “Should- Shouldn’t you be using magic—?”

“No spell slots left,” Stein lies as he sits back in his chair. “That’s why I’m on a break.” Technically not a lie, as they have been instructed to keep at least one spell slot available during a break in case of an emergency. Plus, he always finds traditional medicine more satisfying to perform than mere healing magic, so this isn’t a complete waste of time.

The man looks ready to protest. “So is my arm fine then, at least?” 

“No. You may need a sling, and there could be more underlying damage. Don’t move it much unless you want to potentially injure yourself again.”

“Then what _did_ you do?!”

Stein shrugs. “All I could. Put the shoulder joint back in place. You want to get it properly looked at, go back in the queue and wait for an available healer.” Where he will probably be placed at the very back, since his injury is even less serious now.

There’s a niggling sensation at the back of his mind, like muffled static. Stein quickly gives his screw a few twists until the sound dissipates to nothing. Last thing he wants is a lecture on ethics by the very reason idiots keep assuming he’s going to bless them or any such nonsense.

“Hey!” They’re interrupted by the hospital doctor who barges and rounds on the man. “What are you doing back there? This area is for staff only—!”

“Anterior dislocation, joint’s in place but he needs a second pass,” Stein speaks over her and leans further back into his chair. He blinks and barely catches himself from falling over.

The doctor clicks her tongue and gestures to the bugbear who nervously escorts the man out of the tent.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stein spots a snoring middle-aged human, one of the dwarf MD’s coworkers if he remembers correctly, who has wedged herself under the desk with a backpack as a pillow.

He’s once again interrupted by the doctor giving a tap on the arm. “Take a long break. Not many left now, but you’re still on call ‘til evening.”

Stein hums in acknowledgement as he gets up. “Going for some coffee.”

“You shouldn’t—” she starts, but Stein ignores her as he lifts the canvas and steps out and he’s hit with a warm gust of summer wind as sunlight blots out his vision. So it’s just early morning… He thought it’d be closer to noon…

Stein walks out to Irene square, a modest but well-maintained area bordered by the Mayor’s Office, a turn of the century mansion-like brick house, and All Saints Temple, a marble cathedral covered in colourful buntings and flowers. It’s meant to be a relaxed place to gather, not the central hub for an emergency response, so the khaki prop-up tents are very out of place with the iron-wrought benches occupied by people of varying physical conditions, and an elaborate fountain of the late King on horseback, still operating with a few bored kids splashing in it while their parents are distracted. The place is filled with people, with most queueing at the entrance while others pop in and out of side-entrances, moving about with purpose, so it is with some difficulty that Stein shoves his way through the crowds to narrower but less crowded backstreets. Last thing he wants is some other idiot coming up and complaining that they can’t find a healer, or even worse, ask for a ‘blessing’ or ‘sign’ from the celestial.

Stein ends up on a scenic pedestrian walk littered with small eateries and cafeterias as it winds around an archaeological site. It’s busy, with both locals and tourists coming in and out of shops and houses to gossip, mingle or survey any cracks on the walls. Stein pops in a hole in the wall coffee-shop, negotiates extra shots of caffeine and comes out clutching his prize for dear life.

Stein’s debating whether he should sit on the nearby curb or go back to his tent when he hears a familiar voice.

“Ah, excuse me, coming through, excuse me I need to go through — Oh sorry I didn’t see you—!”

He looks back to see the back of an orc towering over the crowd. She was hunching down to speak to someone, her long wavy blonde hair spilling over her shoulders and hiding her face.

Stein walks closer to notice her apologising to a grumpy-looking goblin who’s gathering a few things that spilled from his back. 

“Again, I’m really sorry, I didn’t see where I was going—”

“Marie?” Stein calls out.

“Ah—Sorry who—? Stein!?” She looks between before quickly excusing herself one last time from the goblin as she turns to him and glances at the red cross pin on his lab coat. She has one as well. “Wait are you with—Oh I shouldn’t be surprised, they’re pulling everyone for 24 hour duty huh—? But wait, why are you here—?”

Stein gestures his cup at her. “Coffee break.” His temporary reprieve, one that he doesn’t want to be interrupted. Hanging out with a towering orc would make any idiot with a blister wanting Stein to give them a boo-boo kiss think twice about bothering him…

“Join me?”

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

“—And so he told me that I was being too overbearing and intimidating and that he wanted more space and next thing I knew he disappeared on me!” Marie rambles as Stein does his best to nod along, The coffee has not yet hit him.

“I swear I can’t find a decent date in this city. They say, ‘oh we’re so multicultural and open-minded,’ but the moment an orc shows interest they’re all, ‘oh, I just don’t like women who are taller than me,’ or, ‘oh, I’m a pacifist,’ as if I’m not!”

Stein nods with a bit more understanding this time. If another random person asks him for a sign from the celestial, he will kidnap and dissect them and publish a paper on terminal idiocy syndrome.

The niggling feeling comes back, and Stein gives his screw another good twist, though his worry stays. The last time he adjusted it multiple times a day was years ago, when he’d first installed it, desperately trying to get that nosy nuisance out of his head, celestial ancestry be damned. The stress and sleep deprivation must be getting to him. That, or whatever mysterious event happened last night thinned the space between the realms even more…

“This is just a mess, I should never have stayed here after graduating—no, I should have gone back to my village and found a dumb orc husband and finally settled down for good,” Marie concludes and looks at her tea dejectedly.

“You still have time, don’t you?” Stein says as he lights another cigarette. They’re the same age from what he remembers. “You’re not that old.”

Plus, Marie doesn’t look that different than she did during their last year of university. She has the same large and stocky build, same hairstyle, same propensity to ramble. Even her fashion sense, a long-sleeved black shirt and skirt combo that’d be right at home in an HR office, has stayed the same… The same towering orc with green skin, long blonde hair, and an eyepatch with a thunderbolt insignia. The mystery behind the eyepatch was a topic of much gossip, though the prevailing theory was that it was because of some minor scuffle Orcs usually have, but Stein was never satisfied with that half-assed answer.

“I’m in my thirties!” Marie despairs. “That’s middle age for orcs, oh I’m gonna end up a spinster, oh wait, what am I saying I already _am_ one…”

Stein blinks to stay awake — he should order another cup — but he does catch on to a strand that he can make a conversation out of. “I thought the whole Orc life expectancy was pseudoscience?” he asks, trying to remember the details of another he’s read that caused a small debate in his group. It had something to do with not accounting for advances in medicine or living conditions, but damn him if he could remember any more than that.

“Tell that to my grandma who says she had grandkids at my age!” Marie sags in her seat, causing its thin metal frame to groan. “Maybe I should just go around saying I’m a half-orc, not like people would know the difference…” She sighs and delicately takes a small sip from her cup before placing it back on the too-small floral-decorated round table. “But enough of my troubles, how have you been? We haven’t seen each other in ages!”

“Here and there. Stuck between post-docs,” Stein says with a shake of his head. “But then my supervisor roped me in for emergency treatment after yesterday. Said it was good for ‘public outreach’.” Plus he managed to negotiate increased funding and to be placed last on the fortnightly seminar presentation rota. “You?”

“Oh, nothing unusual, did some odd jobs here and there after graduating, joined an adventuring party and so on, but I’m still stuck as a temp.” She sighs. “I’ve been applying for permanent positions at different Temples, but you can guess how that’s going… But in case, congratulations!” Marie claps and nothing in her tone seems insincere. “Though I’m surprised you of all people haven’t joined a temple yet—”

Stein grinds his cigarette. “Not my thing.” No, it would be near impossible to keep that voice out. Even now he had to walk around those blasted things.

Marie gives him a confused look but eventually nods and goes back to enjoying her tea. Stein leans back and takes in a deep breath. This little shop they ended up in, a small cornerstone cafeteria, is familiar. He used to pass by it to hang about the area to meet with classmates about whatever disastrous group projects they’d been assigned to.

He remembers he came across Marie in one of those little shops, sitting in the back corner and agonizing over some report they had to hand in. She’d gone beet red when she saw him for some reason and Stein, not wanting to go back to the fancy and pre-paid student halls where every other of his housemates was planning to go into either the clergy or politics, had made some small talk then sat with her until closing time and helped her with the assignment. Or at least he thought he helped, as he did most of the talking, while Marie occasionally nodded and kept stealing glances at him.

After that they’d occasionally see each other in class, and then Stein had other things to worry about; making sure his grades were high enough, looking for an affordable flat, making enough money to fund the fees and living costs of his masters, figure out how to completely cut contact with his family the moment he graduated…

Stein caught a woman stare at him from afar, with the same hopeful look that annoying elf back at the tent had given him. A moment later though, her gaze fell on Marie and she pursed her lips and walked away.

A lightbulb goes off in Stein’s head and he sits up to address Marie. “You should join me in my tent—”

Marie stood up and waved in the opposite direction Stein was looking at. “Naigus!” She yelled and waved her hands to attract attention. “Hey, over here!”

Stein turned around to see a woman followed by a short boy make their way towards them. The boy is very short—probably a teenage halfling—with wild spiky hair and an awkward but prominent musculature overactive teenage boys are prone to develop, and his face stuck in a pout. The woman has dark skin, black hair in long dreadlocks caught in a ponytail, and most worryingly, is dressed in military fatigues. Her face is covered in bandages with only her eyes visible.

Stein is on full alert as the military woman reaches Marie, but relaxes when the two share a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. Right, he hasn’t done anything openly illegal in a while.

“Oh, it’s good to see a friendly face,” the woman says, her voice low and tired.

“I’d say, you must be swamped!” Marie says with a quick squeeze of the woman’s shoulders before turning to Stein. “Oh, let me introduce you. Stein, this is Mira Naigus, she is with the Guard and works with Sid and occasionally me—You remember Sid from our class? A year senior, human, in the Monk cohort?”

Stein vaguely remembered someone who fit Marie’s description, so he nodded.

“That’s great! Naigus, this is Franken Stein, we were in the same Cleric cohort back at uni.” 

Mira nods, then frowns. “Wait is he the same Stein you—”

Marie cut her off with a very loud laugh as she turned to the young boy. “And who’s this little gentleman?”

The boy’s pout turns into a very confused frown as Naigus gestures to him. “This is Black Star, Sid and I are fostering him—”

“Oh yes,” Marie says and offers her hand to Black Star, “I remember, we’ve never met in person—”

Black Star ignores her and turns to Naigus. “I would have found him by now.” 

Naigus sighs but is in no way surprised. “I told you, you’re not going out there on your own, it’s compete chaos—”

“I’m not gonna get lost!” Black Star shoots back, offended. “Come on, I’m not like, twelve.”

“No, you’re thirteen.”

“ _Exactly_!” Black Star exclaims and puffs out his chest. “ _Plenty_ old now!”

“No, you—” Naigus cuts herself off and sighs again. “You’re staying with me, and once we find Sid, we will have a talk about how you keep disappearing—”

Black Star rolls his eyes. “I’m not disappearing. I’ve told you and Sid, I’m _training_ —”

“With who?”

“A friend,” Black Star said and looks away, “and I’ve told you it’s because I’m gonna go out on my birthday and kick Tiamat’s butt and then—!”

Naigus throws the adults a tired look as Black Star starts rambling about how dragons should quake in their boots once he starts adventuring.

The two of them get seated, with Black Star having to hop onto the chair, and place their orders. The two women make small talk, with Marie occasionally trying to include Stein by bringing up vague events that happened during their university years, but he is too exhausted to talk about the weather or whatever place their soccer team places during their undergrads.

Eventually, Marie leans in to Naigus and asks, “Is everything ok?”

Naigus grimaces and leans closer to Marie. “It’s Sid, he’s…” she whispers, and Stein has to concentrate to pick out her words. Next to her, Black Star is scanning the crowd, his legs rocking back and forth. 

“The Constabulary was attacked last night while we were in. I made it out with just a few scratches, but I haven’t heard from him, since…” She trails off as they notice Black Star staring at Marie.

The orc gives the boy a smile as she loosens her shoulders, trying and failing to appear smaller. “Hi—”

“Lady, you’re huge!”

Marie gives the boy an awkward laugh as Naigus gives him a stern look. “Black Star.”

Black Star ignores her and slams his elbow on the table. “Let’s arm wrestle!”

Marie’s hand is about the size of Black Star’s head and she seems painfully aware of that. “Sorry, I’m very tired, perhaps another day?”

Black Star puffs his cheek in frustration and leans back in his chair. “It’s cool. I would have won anyway.”

Marie keeps smiling as Naigus gives him a weak glare. “Sorry, Marie. He’s at that age…”

“Ah, don’t worry about it—”

“Hey weird bird dude, wanna wrestle?!”

“Black Star!”

Stein wonders if _‘weird bird dude’_ is because of the odd feathers in his hair or if the boy recognised he’s an Aasimar and has them classified as glorified pigeons. Intriguing either way.

“I’m more amenable to cutting something open right now, are you volunteering?” Stein deadpans, and is met with the full force of Marie’s and Naigus’ glares. “It was a joke,” he lies. “I haven’t slept for…” he does some quick mental math, “30 hours.”

Mira gives him a sympathetic look as Marie’s jaw hangs open. “Gods. Stein, how are you…?”

Stein swishes his cup and swings it back, draining it. He can slowly feel the effect of caffeine, though he should definitely get another one, and probably a third when he’s inevitably asked to write up a bunch of forms detailing how this experience ‘enriched’ him and made him a more ‘conscientious’ scientist.

“Excuse me,” comes a voice behind Stein and he quickly turns to see a haggard policewoman standing by their table. His whole body tenses until he realises she’s addressing Naigus. Of course. She’s military and works with police. Stein’s fine. If anything, he’s awake now.

“Are you First Lieutenant Mira Naigus?” the policewoman asks while stifling a yawn.

Naigus nods and gets up from the table. “What is it? Is this about…?” She never finishes her question, but Black Star perks up as well.

The policewoman gives her a half-hearted salute. “Yes, well, uh…” She looks around the table and takes a deep breath. “Do you all know Sid Barrett?”

Marie nods and Stein copies her, curious what this is about.

The policewoman nods and turns around. “Please come with me then.”

“Wait,” Naigus calls out, “I know it’s not procedure, but what—” 

Marie puts a hand on Naigus’ shoulder as they all get up to follow her. “It’s ok, this is Sid we’re talking about! He’s tough as nails, I’m sure he’s perfectly—!”


	4. Right as Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bleached white sheet covers Sid’s body.

Marie stumbles back until her back hits the wall. Her breath comes out a fog; The room is frigid, she realises, the cold seeping under her skin and to her very bones. Cold like…

How long has he been there, under that sheet, while Mira searched for him?

Her eyes find Stein first; she can’t look at Mira, not now…

Stein is staring blankly at the body, emotionless, but Marie can’t blame him. He and Sid barely knew each other… Yet here he is now, already past the edge of exhaustion — the worrying amounts of coffee only accentuate the dark circles under his eyes — forced to identify the corpse of a passing acquaintance after spending the whole night as an emergency responder. 

She shouldn’t have dragged him into this.

Mira takes a step towards Sid’s body and Marie’s mouth hangs agape, ready to spill useless condolences. She can only see Mira’s back, and the woman is standing unnaturally still as she looks down at the sheet.

Black Star is next to her, just as silent. Poor boy, this isn’t…

“What happened?” His voice is hoarse, almost deeper, as if he’s aged years in the few seconds they’ve been there. The very sound of it breaks Marie’s heart.

The coroner side-eyes him, his expression unreadable, although the exhaustion is clear on his face. Marie can’t fault his lack of sympathy — she knows his role requires moments of cold detachment. And Gods know how many times he’s had to be in this sort of situation tonight…

But as he stays silent and stares at Mira, Marie can feel herself almost scream for him to show a little more care for a young boy who’s just lost….

“Black Star. Can you wait for me outside?” Mira suddenly speaks up. Her voice is noticeably shaky, and she neglects to turn her head to the young halfling who is still silently staring at the body.

Black Star keeps staring at the white sheet. A muscle in his neck twitches.

“ _Black Star,_ ” Naigus repeats, still stern but with a tired gentle tone that makes Marie wish she knew them well enough to be able to say something without being a busybody. 

Black Star bites his lower lip and Marie fears he’s about to say something rash, but he shakes his head and turns halfway between the table and the door. “Yeah. Sure.” He gives one long last look to the body, expression unreadable, before he ducks his head and walks out of the room, opening the door with more force than necessary. Marie sees it close behind him, only for her attention to shift to Mira as she takes a long shuddering breath before turning to the coroner.

“How?”

The coroner grabs a clipboard from a nearby counter and walks closer to the body. “We’re almost certain it happened when the station was attacked.” His expression doesn’t change, although for a split second Marie can see his gaze dart to Stein, who has silently moved even closer to the body and is now giving it a curious glance over.

“ _Who_?” For the first time Mira’s voice is distant, as if she’s already got a suspect list in her head and is ticking them off one by one.

“We haven’t been able to ID the attacker. All who could have seen them are,” A brief flicker of emotion crosses his face. “But from what we can gather, many of the wounds were caused by Eldritch Blast, which makes us think—”

“Warlock,” Naigus cuts him off and her shoulders square.

A soft click distracts Marie, and she glances back to see the door move slightly back — had it been cracked open? Maybe it hadn’t shut properly after Black Star left, or maybe…

No, there wouldn’t be any point in checking. She can’t leave, not now.

The coroner nods and rubs his eyes. Like them, he has dark circles under his eyes. He leaves through the papers on his clipboard and hands a thin stack to Naigus, expression drawn. “The Chief said he wanted you to have this report, but it’s confidential—”

Mira’s hand darts out in his direction, though she’s still staring at the body. “Give it to me and leave.”

The coroner’s face twitches as if he’s about to protest, but he slowly pulls out the papers like he has to hand-feed a piranha. “Of course, Lieutenant.” And with a quick, respectful nod, he’s gone.

Naigus pages through the report and Marie steps forward, knowing she has to do something—say something. She’s a cleric after all, it’s not the first time she has to comfort people mourning, but this is her friend, and Marie knows her well enough as to not patronise her with what she’d perceive as vague platitudes.

Yes, this is her friend, Marie realises. And she’s from the military, while Sid is part of the police. Marie has assisted in enough Resurrections to know the most prolific of the spell’s beneficiaries either had money to burn or were from certain governmental departments.

“It’s… It’s going to be alright then?” She starts with a weak smile. “Sid is going to be resurrected, I’m sure, he’s a good man with an excellent record.”

Mira flips through the last page and stiffens. “He’s not cleared.”

“W-What?” Marie isn’t familiar with the terminology or the admin behind such spells, but the implications are obvious. She walks closer to Naigus and peeks at the report, seeing a bright red stamp captioned **‘UNAUTHORISED’** imprinted on it. The writing swims before her eyes. “But—”

“Sid’s not cleared for resurrection,” Mira says again, and Marie can hear her teeth grind. Her arm twitches and Marie momentarily feels it hit an awkward spot in her abdomen.

“But that’s _nonsense_!” Marie emphatically says. “There’s no _shortage_ of skilled clerics and diamonds here, Stein and I have helped in _multiple_ Resurrections over the night…” Marie rattles her head for a possible explanation and reaches down to hold Mira’s hand. “If it’s because of a temporary shortage or something, we can try booking a private session, Stein and I can use our connections, I’ll help cover the cost—”

“That’s not how it works anymore,” Mira spits out and tugs away from Marie’s grip as she starts pacing, desperately flipping through the report as if that would change the result.

Marie hopes that, impossibly, it does. “That’s… What do you mean, the spells can’t have changed” She spares a quick look at Stein to see if he knows anything, only to see him still staring at Sid’s body — it’s honestly starting to get a bit unnerving, had Marie misjudged how much he’d been affected?

“ _New measures_ ,” Mira explains, her finger following along the passage that mentions it. She doesn’t spare a second to Marie or Stein, even stepping over him at one point as if he’s not even there. “All resurrections you assisted with last night were cleared.”

“What does that mean?” Marie doesn’t recall any mention of that during the ritual. Though, casting her mind back, she remembers the presence of a dwarven man in a black suit who had a quick private chat with the head cleric before the ritual took place..

“It has to do with all the warlocks running around. Something about that if we resurrect a warlock then there’s a good chance their patron can break through into our realm or…” Mira suddenly stops, drawing attention from Stein who raises his head a little. “Case being, you need to be cleared for it to be legal and if you’re not—” Her voice cracks and drops to a hiss. “But it doesn’t make sense. We knew the changes would come and both applied and I made sure we were cleared, _why was it changed…_?!” 

“There must be _something_ we can do,” Marie insisted. “Even with the previous measures, getting a Resurrection done required all sorts of background checks and I know that some of them were _lacking_ ,” something that she reported, only to be fired the day later for no specified reason, “so maybe we can try—”

“It’s not going to happen!” Naigus cuts her off, and Marie takes a step back as she’s never heard Naigus this emotional and _hurt_. Her friend is dry-heaving, her eyes brimming with tears that refuse to fall, with the report slightly torn from how hard she’s wringing it. “The new law ensures that in the case of an unauthorised Resurrection, the Cleric will be _disbarred_ , the resurrected _executed_ , and _everyone_ involved will be court martialled, and you can guess the outcome of a fucking _High Treason_ charge—” She stops with a single wheezed sob, before finally bursting into tears.

Marie’s arms slowly come around her friend’s shoulders as she brings her into her abdomen to cry. “We can still… maybe…” Marie trails off, as she gently rubs Naigus’ back. Gods, it doesn’t seem like there’s anything she can do, but Marie refuses to admit that, even if she knows that she’s offering a false comfort that makes her stomach churn.

“There may be something we can do,” Stein speaks up, his inflection bored and lifeless. He’s back to staring at Sid’s body like it’s a complicated puzzle, his gaze glassy but brimming with an excited fire. “It’s something I’ve been working on for some time. I think I hit a breakthrough earlier yesterday, but I haven’t had time to validate or test it.” He tilts his head. “Then again, with half the stuff that gets published ever since souls were _‘discovered’—_ ”

“Stein,” Marie hisses as she comforts a crying Naigus. “Get to the point. Please.”

Stein glances at her before looking at Sid and biting his lip. His expression is stuck between a smile and a grimace. “I can bring him back. Right now.” Naigus stiffens in her embrace, and Marie can feel her turn her head towards Stein. “But we’re going to have to _run_.”

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

The old manor is silent and dead, a far cry from the light and heat that had come from it earlier. It sits atop a rocky hill, one among the many that mark the beginning of the mountain line that surrounds the ancient metropolis below it.

“ _It’s here_ ,” whispers a voice from the back of his mind, quivering as it caresses over his mind.

He gives a final look to the city below, where a rising sun reflects off red-tiled roofs of old traditional houses that are replaced with the flat tops of blocky concrete apartment complexes as the city stretches to a calm coastline. As its name suggested, Melissia was a hive of activity, yet this little patch of land is empty.

He enters the manor house to find it pristine and untouched. The entrance foyer is made of marble with pillars that imitate the old ruins and more traditional temples that adorn every other sidestreet within the city. He passes by the entertainment room, then the dining room, each adorned with classical paintings, statues, and equally tasteful furniture, with nary a spot of dust on them. A foul odour permeates the building.

He opens the kitchen door and comes across a decomposing corpse. A personal chef perhaps, lying curled up and clutching her heart. Her pot has long boiled over and only a black tar remains. She is unharmed, but her face is frozen in fear.

“ _Underneath_ ,” comes the voice again, even more timid than he’s used to.

He left the kitchen, then circled the house until he found a half-open trapdoor. The corpse smell is more intense here, saccharine sweet, and he wraps his shawl around his nose and mouth.

The basement is dark, but it’s nothing Prestidigitation can’t solve. He walks across a narrow corridor, a small ball of light held in front of him, until he comes across an ajar door and a wide circular room scattered with more decomposing corpses.

Ah, the source of the foul smell. 

“ _Well_?” the voice speaks up, dripping with fear.

“Only corpses,” he mutters as he walks around the room. His eyes water from the scent of decomposition, it’s oppressively consuming — mixed with the smell of burnt ozone. “Perhaps it failed…?”

“ _It couldn’t, I felt—_ ” the voice hurries, then pauses. “ _Let me see._ ”

As always, the last part is more of a heads-up than a request, and before he can protest, his vision darkens, then lights up with countless small orbs, all of them too far away, clustered at the metropolis downhill.

He’s the only one in the house. No living inhabitants, no constabulary, no guards…

“Not here—” he tries to say, but feels his head wretched upwards. As expected, his vision goes completely dark as there are no souls in the sky.

“ _Not here,_ ” the voice agrees after a few seconds. “ _Not now. But he has been here.”_

He regains control of his neck and rubs it in discomfort; the muscles are tense and flex under his hands as he works at it. “I didn’t appreciate that.”

The voice huffs, and he imagines his owner biting his nails, as he always did when challenged. “ _You also won’t appreciate having your soul taken, would you now?_ ”

He wants to say that he hasn’t committed the cardinal sin, but paused. He hasn’t eaten a soul, but he knows he’s done something worse; he chose the wrong side, and is, for lack of a better term, a traitor.

Well. He has made his bed and is now sleeping in it.

“So what if he was here briefly?” he asks. “It could be before whatever ritual they tried to complete collapsed.” Plus, he wants to get out of this suffocating tomb.

“ _But, whoever did this can try again. And…_ ” the voice trails off and he hears the grinding teeth in its wake. “ _The old man’s not gone. I can feel his presence in this realm. It’s reduced but…_ ” 

“You don’t know?” he offers. 

He gets no response and his own worry worsens. His so-called patron is bad enough on a normal day; If he convinces himself that Death has somehow managed to make it to the material realm, he won’t even be able to get a good night’s sleep from all the frantic and scared chattering—

Something moves at the corner of his eye and he twists around in alarm. 

“ _What-_?!”

His light falls on a small slithering figure and he relaxes. “False alarm. Just a snake.”

The presence in his mind shivers. “ _Ugh. Keep away from those nasty things, aren’t they poisonous—?_ ” 

“Hello there,” the snake hisses, interrupting them and his alarm returns with full force. His patron’s power flows through him in response, as he feels them recoil with equal surprise and terror — though that also happened one time when he was ‘ambushed’ by a squirrel in the park the other day.

Still, snakes were not supposed to talk. His next best guess would be that the creature before him was a familiar, though even then they are only supposed to be able to communicate with their masters…

His hand reaches inside his robe and grabs hold of his namesake weapon, the familiar cold metal, a laser focus for him as he stares down at the serpent. “Who are you?”

“An ally, I hope.” The snake tilts its head as it scans the room. “But this is no place to talk. So, let me offer you a message…” it trails off, and even though it’s supposed to resemble a typical snake, Vajra sees it smile. “And an invitation.”


	5. I Have One Mouth And I Must Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz is going to strangle him.

She doesn’t _care_ if he’s _hurt_. She doesn’t care if he’s having a delayed panic attack. She just wants him to stop _screaming_. 

Right on cue, the boy lets out another cry as if his fingernails are being torn off. Liz tries to get away, only for his grip on her ankle to tighten, becoming painful. 

“Stop _fucking_ screaming!” Liz yells back.

The boy ignores her and writhes as if his skeleton is trying to leave his body, his eyes scrunched shut as he twists once more in a disgusting fashion. 

She is definitely going to strangle him. Fuck Monk Cop and his _noble_ request, a healed shoulder isn’t worth having to drag around some mad kid screaming bloody murder.

“He’s like a really sticky piece of gum, Sis!” Patty says as she manages to grab one of the boy’s legs and starts pulling him back. Liz half expects him to stretch like putty yet his grip stays strong however and she almost trips as Patty puts her full weight against him, barely dodging his spasming stray leg. 

This is a fucking disaster, Liz thinks as she crouches down to loosen the boy’s iron grip on her ankle, to no avail. Damn it all, she knew they should have just made a run for it. Good deeds never go unpunished. 

And they are so close too! This little alleyway full of occupied condemned buildings is where their little hideout was, a half-collapsed neoclassical house with a bent gate and an overgrown bush by its entrance. 

“Time to say night-night!” comes Patty’s voice and Liz looks up to see her sister standing over the boy, wielding a broken construction wooden beam over her head. The boy ignores her like everything else, and all Liz can focus on is Patty’s empty eyes and cruel smirk as her arms tense to bring down the beam _hard_ on his head.

“ _Wait—_!” Liz puts up her hand between Patty and the boy, and her sister barely pauses in time. “Go grab our gear first, I’ll deal with the brat!” 

“Ya sure, sis?!” Patty yells over the screaming. The terrifying look from before is gone, but she is holding tight to the beam, claws making small indents in the rotting wood. 

Liz nods tiredly. “I’m gonna be fine, we just need to be ready to move,” she says, her mind coming up with a quick excuse. It’s not like anyone will bother them there, even with the boy screaming his lungs out. Liz can’t remember how many times she heard screams cut short in these alleyways while hankering down with Patty. The ‘neighbours’ know not to get involved in other people’s businesses; at worst they’ll have an eavesdropper who’ll later try to sell the information to whoever’s interested in brawling teenagers or something. 

And as the boy momentarily quiets down, she hears distant alarms and yells, Liz is sure some random boy screaming won’t even make it to anyone’s highlights of tonight. 

Fucking hell, what a night. What a whole fucking week, really. One moment she and Patty were just living their normal lives, next thing they knew the Thieves Guild put a bounty on their heads when the only thing they had done was botch a break in at the mansion of some dude and grabbing whatever they can — mostly some useless papers from a nearby writing desk and the odd piece of jewellery — before the guard caught them. Since Liz was very much in favour of her head being attached to the rest of her body, she came up with a plan of handing themselves in and getting the police involved in whatever mess they found themselves in and now…

Liz takes a deep breath. _Now_ , they need to dump this crazy kid somewhere — or just leave him as is, assuming she manages to get him off her ankle — grab their stuff and get the hell out of dodge. Melissia isn’t the only big city out there, the capital’s way bigger and sure to have more opportunities for an up-and-coming pair of ne’er-do-wells like them. They’ll be fine, they can get out of this mess, they just need to…

The boy’s yelling is like a hammer pounding at her head. They will be fine, they just… The thieves guild is full of old geezers, and the two of them aren’t some weakling brats barely trying to make a living. They just need to get the right head start, and soon enough they’ll be the new rising stars of the underworld, with all sorts of dodgy merchants, politicians, and celebrities asking them for favours under the table. They’re gonna have to get their hands dirty and Liz’s already made up her mind while Patty just tried to…

Fuck, Patty just tried to _kill_ someone. She straight up went for his head and if Liz didn’t stop her, her sister would be standing over a corpse of her own making.

 _Fuck_.

Liz is _trying,_ dammit. She tried by sticking to simple larceny and the occasional stick-up. She got them both on that shitty Jobseekers rangers training program, then on a bard apprenticeship for Patty before she bombed it again by missing a stupid check-in appointment and not filling form number ‘Fuck-You’ correctly. Now the only thing she could get if she applied again was some shitty back-breaking mining gig at a fucking volcano or something because absent-minded tieflings didn’t deserve to get the “cushy” gigs that didn’t list fire resistance as a requirement.

So here they are, in a shitty back alley of a dying city with some mad kid screaming his head off, just a few hours after the sky tried to swallow them whole or something.

Speaking of, the boy’s voice has gone hoarse, and his screaming has subsided to less-loud but equally annoying pained groans.

Liz is in no mood to consider her previous ultimatum of strangling him, so she just sits back and rubs her forehead. “Cut it out, kid.”

The kid does not in fact cut it out, and a surge of anger courses through Liz. She thinks of picking Patty’s discarded pipe or prime her hoof to stomp on him, but reconsiders. They’re in the middle of the street and if he turns out to be someone rich or something, that’s gonna come and bite her in the ass. He’s already alerted everyone within a couple of miles of their presence.

His grip momentarily slackens, and Liz tenses and reaches down. She manages to pull his hand off her ankle, but just as soon his grip then tightens around her hand, his nails digging into her knuckles.

“You fucking—” Liz starts as she tries to stand up and pull his hand off, but the boy pulls back much harder and she tumbles down into him. Her next seconds are a confusing mess of stray limbs and a painful knee at her side, and Liz is trying to get off him when a ukulele whizzes past her and hits the boy straight in the face with a jangling tune, downing him.

Liz immediately pins him down as Patty pulls back her instrument, priming it for another hit.

“It’s ok, I got him!” Liz says as the boy’s writhing dies down to trembling. 

Uncertain of what else to do, Liz gives him a once-over; he’s skinny, which brings into question exactly how he managed to momentarily overpower her — maybe she is going soft after all — and though his eyes are still shut, their big round shape, button nose, now bruised, and delicate features would have grandmotherly types pinch his cheeks and croon over him. 

Yeah, this poor fucker definitely found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. The white in his hair was probably from stress or something.

The kid’s eyes slowly open, his iris a strange yellow that suggests a non-human heritage somewhere high up the family tree — and his pupils are fully contracted as they dart around her and settle in the middle of her torso.

“Hey!” Liz yells and a shiver goes through his entire body as his eyes dart from her torso, to the sky, and back on her face, his expression one of growing horror.

Liz scoffs; she’s used to that kind of scared staring. “What, afraid of the spooky tiefling?”

The kid ignores her as his eyes trail down to his own hands. His expression stays just as drawn as one of his fingers twitch. He tries to bring it closer to his face, and Liz lets him only because she’s too confused by what he’s trying to do.

She blinks and the kid’s eyes dart to her before copying her and bringing his hand over his own eye.

He presses his hand down on his eye and Liz pulls it back just in time before he does any damage. “Don’t do that, you’re gonna poke your eye out or something.”

The kid looks back up at her before he returns to haphazardly scanning the surrounding area. His shivering has stopped by now, but he clenches and unclenches his fingers as he keeps sharply inhaling and exhaling. If Liz didn’t have a headache and a bruised ankle from his previous thrashing, she’d liken him to a harmless puppy.

“Gods, those fuckers really did a number on you, kid,” Liz mutters under her breath. 

The kid looks at her briefly before he goes back to staring at a nearby lamp.

Patty kneels next to Liz. She’s still gripping her ukulele like a bat, but is otherwise curious. “What’s wrong with him?”

Liz shrugs as the kid’s mouth starts silently moving.

Oh good, he can probably talk.

“Hey, can you hear me?” She snaps her fingers by his eyes to get his attention. “I’m Liz. What’s your name?”

The kid starts to mouth something and a grunting sound comes out as if he’s testing his pharynx, followed by coughing. He keeps exhaling twice before he inhales, as if he’s forgotten how to breathe.

Just as Liz is about to give up, he whispers something very softly.

“What’s that? Didn’t hear ya,” she says as she leans in closer…

“ _Where’s dad—?_ ”

“What’s going on here?” comes a third voice and Liz whips around to see a frazzled policeman round the corner and strides up to them, hand reaching for his baton. His eyes narrow as he approaches and Liz is about to tell him to mind his business when she realises he’s seeing a tiefling straddling a half-naked, bloody boy.

Liz bites her lip as she senses Patty tense behind her and once again, _fuck_.

Liz is about to put her hands up in a pacifying gesture and back away when she spies another man round the corner and hurries to them. 

“Excuse me!” comes the unknown man’s voice as they all turn to look at a breathless half-elf clad in traditional clerical vestments, probably a priest from some local temple, running at them.

The priest pauses when he reaches them and rests his hands on his knee while taking a few deep breaths. “Finally, I’ve been searching all over…”

The policeman steps back so he’s facing them all. His hand hasn’t left his baton. “What’s going on here?”

The priest takes another deep breath before he stands up straight and composes himself. “I am Justin Law, cleric and Head Priest of the church of The Everlight Sarenrae.”

Justin pauses, and the cop gives him an impatient look while still stealing glances at Liz and Patty. “And?”

The priest blinks before realisation hits him, “Oh, I’ve been searching for—This child’s been separated from their family earlier tonight—” 

The cop looks back at the tieflings, alarmed, and Justin steps between them just in time. “Ah no, I…” he glances back and takes another deep breath, “hired those two as bounty hunters to search for him. It’s urgent that I bring them back to their family, you see…”

As Justin continues lying to the cop’s face at point blank-distance, Liz considers making a run for it right there and now. The priest can take care of the crazy kid, she and her sister can get the fuck out of dodge. She looks at Patty and flicks her head back, and the two are just about to bolt when Justin’s hands land on both their shoulders.

“—And if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be taking these three back to the temple, you can imagine what a night this has been,” Justin continues in a nonchalant tone despite the iron-like grip on Liz’s shoulder. “But thank you for your continued vigilance and, as this is a sensitive matter, discreetness,” he continues as he offers the cop a small clinking bag.

The cop stares at the small bag for a quick second before pocketing it. He gives a quick nod to Justin and heads off, disappearing into one of the spiderweb-like alleyways.

The creepy priest is still gripping their shoulders when the cop leaves. Liz glances at Patty, who hands her an arrow from behind the priest’s back. 

Justin keeps staring at where the policeman went out of sight. “Phew. Now then—”

Liz takes a step back and stabs the priest’s hand with the tip of her bow as Patty copies her. Justin lets them go with a hiss. Patty quickly tosses Liz her crossbow and readies her own; they can probably rob him and get some funds for their long trip ahead.

Liz pauses as she sees Justin merely frown before reaching into his robe and pulling out a jawless three-pronged skull-like pendant, trails of ruby red blood dripping down it as he clasps it in his hand. Liz has her finger on the trigger when the pendant starts to glow and cackle like a broken radio.

“I _suggest,_ ” he starts, and the wind is knocked out of Liz’s lungs, Patty freezing next to her as well, “you two don’t try to kill me, and simply follow me to the temple.” He gives them a bright smile, although it is clearly tinted with either frustration or open malice as he carefully reaches down and picks up the kid. “How does that sound?”

Liz can’t bring herself to say no.

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

Justin is having the longest night of his life.

It is not easy running a cult. It is especially not easy when the deity of worship is from the far edges of reality, so distant and obscure that most simple-minded people cannot comprehend its existence — and whose worship may be outlawed if rumours about a new round of warlock prohibition laws come true. Things get worse when most members fortunate enough to receive their God’s gifts perceive the relationship more like a business transaction and less like the blessing it is. And it is not helped when said deity wakes them up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, with what Justin can only describe as apoplectic screams of rage.

But, with any luck, Justin has finally made a breakthrough. Earlier tonight, unsure of what else to do, Justin ordered his flock to head out and find out exactly what drove their patron to such an apocalyptic frenzy to nearly rend the boundaries of space themselves apart, before he too left the parish and roamed the streets like a headless chicken. After hours of unfruitful searching when Justin had just about given up, he decided to clutch his pendant—his arcane focus that allowed him to receive his God’s blessing—for guidance. To his surprise, he found it resonating with something. He spent the next hour playing a game of hot and cold, trying to pinpoint the source of the resonance, letting himself be guided to one of the less savoury parts of the city. 

Then his pendant shook as if hit by an invisible shockwave, and Justin rounded the corner to see a bunch of teens facing off against a policeman. Justin was confused, but his pendant was burning under his robes and next thing he knew he was herding three unruly teens back to his parish.

It is unfortunate that he had to use Suggestion on the sisters, but Justin needed to know of their involvement if he wanted to detangle tonight’s mystery. Yet the two homicidal sisters worried him less than the child in his lap, with Justin’s pendant buzzing like a cicada ever since he picked him up.

Justin hurries through narrow alleyways as they exit into a wider pedestrian walk that neighbours the ancient Agora. They ignore the confused locals out on the street or at their balconies, travelling merchants nervously standing by their vans, hands splayed over valuable goods as if to protect them when they occasionally draw closer, and the odd old lady sweeping broken glass and debris as they walk across the uneven cobblestones as the street spills into a cul-de-sac surrounded by various temples, striking a piercing gaze at the odd group when they pass.

Justin’s parish is a humble-looking one, a two story structure made of smoothed stone and minimal decoration sans a sign with their cover identity and a wraith of chrysanthemums hanging at the entrance leading to their false altar.

The priest walks around the side of his temple and enters through an easily overlooked backdoor, into a dim corridor surrounded by closed doors. He enters the door at the very back, before a staircase going to the basement that leads into his private quarters. He cannot bring them anywhere else inside their church and his room will do for now, even with its spartan furniture and tiny space.

The older sister stops by the doorstep of the room, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar room before she starts blinking in a daze. The effects of Suggestion must be starting to fade.

Justin deposits the child on his bed, keeping him upright by bracing his back against the wall, before turning to the sisters. His pendant is still buzzing slightly.

“W-What the fuck?”

Justin approaches them and his pendants buzzing lessens. So it’s not these two, which leaves… 

“Thank you very much for your help tonight,” he starts before the older sister can say anything and opens his drawer to withdraw a small pouch of gold coins. “Our temple may not be as bountiful as others, but we still want to reward you for your efforts tonight, as well as for your continued discreteness.”

He hands each a gold coin, and though the younger one acts awed and bites it, the older stares at it, then Justin, then at the child at the far back. “Hey, hold on…” She blinks rapidly again. “Is he with you—What’s going on here?”

Justin bites his inner lip but gives her a bright smile, feeling exposed. If he hadn’t sent everyone out on a wild goose chase, things would be much simpler. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that’s a private matter of the church. Rest assured that the child belongs with us and we’ll take care of things now.” 

The older sister simply stands where she is as her frown deepens while the youngest walks past Justin and starts exploring his room.

Justin feels his patience wear thin and his smile tightens. “Please, is there anything else you require? If not, you don’t need to stay here—” 

“What the fuck?” she cuts him off. “No seriously, what the fuck—? It’s been a long night and I want answers! What the fuck is this place, who the fuck are you, is this your fucking kid or something, just what the—?”

“Is it more payment you require?” Justin tiredly asks as he keeps a close eye on the younger’s rampage of his closet. She will only come across more vestments, but he is ready to yank her hand back in case she goes for his bedside drawers. 

The tiefling grimaces and looks between Justin and her sister. “… You know what actually, fuck this. Come on, Patty, we’re leaving.”

The young tiefling twirls around. “Ok, Sis—huh?” 

She looks back to see the child is holding her sleeve as he finally moves and raises his head to look at them all. His eyes move slowly from the tiefling sisters to Justin, to down at Justin’s chest where his pendant is hidden. Justin’s Arcane Focus buzzes and crackles and a pit forms in his stomach.

“You are not Father,” he says in a deep voice that sounds far too world weary to match his childlike form as he stares at Justin. His tone is slow and enunciated, and his lips barely move.

The younger sister tilts her head to the side as the older huffs. “Oh, now you can talk—?!”

“But there is a trace of Father with you,” the child continues, ignoring the tieflings.

Justin reaches for his pendant. “My soul belongs to my patron, the Harvester of Souls, the Great Old One of Order, Death. As a reward for my loyalty and devotion, They have gifted me with a trace of Their power, so that I may use it to fulfil Their commands,” he says slowly, reciting the very oath trainees make upon their induction.

The child stays silent and an outrageous idea pops up in Justin’s head. Justin is one of his Patron’s most loyal disciples, and whenever he commuted with his deity, he could feel a third presence watching them, separate yet distinct and much more subdued. He never brought it up as he did not want to bother his Lord with needless questions, but now… 

He carefully presents his pendant to the child. “… Are They your Master?”

His Lord must have a retinue of followers in this realm and the rest. Calling Them Father is a bit strange, but Justin would be lying if he too did not feel a paternal affection for the guardian of all souls. 

The child blinks slowly, clutching the pendant in his tiny, tiny hands. “He’s my Father. He created me.”

In later recollections, Justin cannot describe the emotion that went through him at that very moment. All he can remember was that his knees went weak, torn between hugging, prostrating himself, and running away from the creature before him. His God’s… creation? 

His Lord’s _child_? 

The older tiefling has gone just as pale as him and reaches out to grab her sister—

“I am like Father. But not complete,” the child continues as all three of them freeze. “I was with Father, but I am not now and now…” they start speaking faster as their cheeks redden, “now I do not know where this place is, or where I am, a-and I cannot find Father and—”

The child hiccups and sniffs, and Justin’s horror is replaced with a different kind of mortification.

The kid is _crying_.

“ _Are you for fucking serious_ ,” the older tiefling hisses.

“I want my dad,” the child bawls, their shoulders tensing as their nails dig into the mattress, one hand still clasped desperately around the pendant that Justin had handed them as they openly sob. 

“Ah, there, there?” Justin says but dares not touch them. The child keeps crying, growing ever more snotty and tearful by the second, and he is in no way equipped to deal with this. “Ah…-”

“Now, now,” In a move that had Justin sweat even more, the older tiefling slowly approaches the child like a bomb technician trying to disarm a bomb. “Let’s just calm down…” 

The kid doesn’t seem to listen to her, so she turns back and hisses: “Patty, help me out here.”

Patty grins. The kid blinks and reels back as Patty pokes him in the nose and then raises her fist high, her thumb in between her fingers. “Got your nose!”

The kid gives her a baffled look. “… What’s a nose?”

Patty laughs, but that only makes the child more insistent in knowing what a ‘nose’ is.

Justin takes advantage of the distraction to slip out of his room, hurry down the staircase at the basement, and finally enter this church’s true site of worship, a domed room illuminated by candles, with an altar at the far end and simple pews lined before it. He strides by the altar and kneels in supplication, giving one last glance up at the domed roof, where it, along with the walls, and floor is painted in elaborate and geometrical patterns meant to honour their Lord.

Death.


	6. Lonesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death is simultaneously furious, baffled and terrified.

Kid is gone. His child up and vanished in thin air.

One moment he and Kid were existing peacefully in their realm, a little bubble of reality that Death created once he had Kid, and now something he could even call home, and the next thing Death knew he felt a faint tug at his being and Kid was nowhere to be found.

Death suspected that the tiny pull he felt had something to do with his child’s disappearance. While panicking, he traced it back to a core realm within a small constellation of worlds that had already caused him enough of a headache. He can’t contact Kid through their shared connection, his so-called warlocks in that realm are all useless as always, so all he can do is either simmer in impotent rage or start tearing through realms. The latter option is starting to look more appealing by the second. Yes, invading realms that are probably incompatible with his existence will be a mess, but he needs to get his child back, who knows how much danger they’re in—

Speaking of headaches, one of them is trying to contact him right now. Death absentmindedly opens the connection on his end and waits impatiently.

“Ah, Lord Death!” his warlock — his name is ‘Just’ or something of the sort — starts with an uncertain tone that only irritates him further. “I apologise for the intrusion in what must be a stressful time, but I think I found your… child?”

Death hones in on the mind like a homing missile and drags the mind fully into his realm, his boundless shape forming claws that tear into the warlock none-too-nicely in order to drag him here faster, manifesting as a tiny humanoid phantasmal form. His warlock grimaces in pain, his form flicking from the violence of such a connection but eventually gathers himself enough to stare up at him with wide eyes, understandably really, as Death’s rage had eliminated any facade of child-friendliness he’d put on for Kid’s sake. 

The warlock keeps staring, and Death’s rage reaches its boiling point. He has enough on his plate without these idiots bothering him every other second because they can’t follow basic instructions, and now they keep quiet after claiming he’d found Kid — Was it one of them who had dragged Kid to who-knows-where?! Damn them all, once Death gets his hands on them—!

The figure finally notices the encroaching malevolent darkness and puts his hands together in prayer. “Ah, sorry, please Lord calm down, you must be very upset, I swear I am not lying, they said they’re your—!” 

“ _Where_?!” Death cuts him off, his roar shaking nearby smaller dimensions, cutting threads that contain him, pulling another grimace of pain from the weak warlock in front of him. 

“They’re at my parish, Lord. They’re safe, but I don’t know what—” 

“ _And you left them alone? Go by their side,_ now.” Goodness gracious, the idiot left Kid alone after being abducted in some forsaken realm! And here was Death thinking he was too reckless when he let Kid play around the edges of their home. “ _I will be in contact. Now hurry!_ ” 

He dismisses the warlock but keeps a close eye on him via their connection, a laughable means of communication really, limited only to verbal commands and a limited Soul Perception from their point of view…

His child’s soul comes into view, a tiny yellow orb so much like his soul, and Death has to hold back from ripping into the realm like he tried to do when Kid disappeared. No, the resulting chaos may only fling Kid further away.

In any case, Death latches onto Kid’s soul, pulling it as close to himself as he can, surrounding the weak trembling connection in his love, his relief at having finally found them.

His child.

A second later his child and the warlock are brought back into his home. Death quickly dismisses the warlock back to their realm before they can even open their mouth to speak before his voice rises a couple of octaves. “Kid!”

“Dad!” Kid is just as ecstatic and hearing their voice again is the most wonderful thing in the world. 

_ “You’re ok, I’m so glad! But… _ ” Death wants nothing more than to rush and hug their child, but he can’t help but notice they look a tiny bit different. “ _Everything alright, kiddo?_ ”

More specifically, they look more like the warlock. Humanoid.

Kid looks at him baffled before they frown and look down at themselves. 

Death mentally gulps. Oh no, has he said something wrong? Maybe he phrased his question wrong. Parents are supposed to encourage their kids, aren’t they? 

“ _Oh I see, you finally settled on a form! That’s great!_ ” Death cheerfully says. It’s a strange time to do so, and Kid has always been fussy about it, never settling fully on one and existing more like a formless void, but maybe something good would come out of this whole mess.

“What, _no!_ ” Kid shoots back. “ _That’s not, why…?!_ ” They dangle their arms and pout, which Death finds adorable. “At least it’s symmetrical enough.”

Death enthusiastically nods. “ _Sure, sure, and your Lines of Sanzu manifested in just the cutest way!_ ”

Kid’s frown deepens and they look up at their hair. They pull down a set of bangs from their left, where the lines are, then some bangs from their right, where the hair is a uniform black.

“No!” Kid shouts and Death is mildly taken aback. “No, this is terrible, why are they all on one side, ugh, why can’t I change it—?!” 

Death, unsure of what else to do, reaches out to pat Kid on the head. “ _Oh, don’t worry about it, you can try again—_ ”

His hand passes right through them.

Death freezes as Kid, too, pauses mid-rant. They reach out to their father’s hand but theirs too, passes through.

“Why…?” Kid tries again, crestfallen when their hand phases through their father’s form again. “I’m back, aren’t I?”

“ _… I’m afraid not. You’re not fully here, not yet_.” Just like Death feared, and some of his previous rage at whoever caused his mess returns. Kid’s presence here is just like the ‘Just’ warlock or whatever his name is. “ _You’re stuck in the other realm._ ”

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

Kid doesn’t know where they are, but they _hate_ it. 

They are supposed to be with Father, but they’re _not_. They’re in some strange place, their Soul Perception obstructed by a different vision, different senses and a _‘body’_ that they can’t make heads or tails of. They didn’t know how to control anything, or how to move in this stupid asymmetrical form they ended up in. They tried observing to figure out how everything worked, but an early attempt at moving and ‘talking’ ended up with something hitting them, which caused another new set of strange feelings and sensations that Kid had to put everything on pause again just to be able to process it all. 

To top it all off, Kid doesn’t even know how they ended up in this strange place. _Something_ yanked them out of the comfort of their home, and if that isn’t bad enough, they can’t even go back.

So it is to their great dissatisfaction that they feel the pull of the foreign realm drag them away from their father, from where Kid _should_ be. They manage a quick wave, their father reciprocating with a quick “be-safe-I’ll-keep-in-contact-love-you!” before Kid feels the weight and discomfort that is seemingly ever-present in their new form. They can at least feel father’s presence this time, though it’s faint and only makes Kid miss him more.

“The sleeping beauty wakes up,” comes a ‘sound’ that Kid now recognises to be a voice. It belonged to one of the many confusing beings of this realm, and this specific one is from the tall red-skinned being called Liz, who had a closed-off and sardonic but otherwise unblemished soul.

Like with many other things here, Kid understands the words but not the meaning behind them, which only frustrates them further. But they mustn’t linger on such trivialities. They must get back to their Father immediately and standing around will do them no good.

Kid tries to make a motion to stand up, as they still haven’t got the hang of all those awkwardly twisting limbs, only for Liz to click her tongue. “You’re not going anywhere. The cultists got us on house arrest.”

“Yeah, a bunch of them arrived after you took a nap!” says the other being that resembles the taller one, both in form and soul, Patty. Her soul is closed-off as well, but much more energetic, and Kid hasn’t forgotten how she swung something at their ‘head’. They’re pretty sure that’s not the norm here.

“Pretty sure that wasn’t a nap,” Liz whispers, but Kid hears her anyway.

“You’re Liz and Patty,” Kid begins. They knew their names and little else, but since they were residents of this realm, they could help them orient themselves.

Liz narrows her eyes and Kid resists the urge to copy her. This form can move in all sorts of small but meaningful ways and Kid doesn’t want to be misinterpreted. “Yeah… And you are?”

“… Kid” Which wasn’t really their full name, but that was what Father called them. “And you are… sisters?”

“Yup!” Patty pipes up and wraps her hand around her sister’s torso. “Liz’s the best big sis in the entire world!”

“So… that means you have the same parent?” Just like Kid has Father, but Kid doesn’t dwell on the thought. “Where are they?”

Liz grimaces as Patty goes quiet as well. Has Kid said something inappropriate? Did they not talk about their parents here? Kid would love to talk about their dad, but in any case, they don’t want to offend…

“Hey, for real, you’re not fucking with us, right?” Liz says before Kid can formulate an appropriate apology.

Kid gives her a blank look.

“Like, this isn’t some sort of prank? You have all the cultists freaking out cause you said your dad is their patron or something,” she says and her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Listen, I appreciate a good grift as much as the next thief, but you don’t want to mess with a bunch of crazy people… I mean they seem to be loaded but still…”

She keeps talking but Kid finds it hard to concentrate on her voice as they feel their body reacting on its own again, and their ‘eyes’ are leaking, _again_ …

Liz draws back with a curse and Kid tries to wipe the obstruction off, but the stupid things keep coming.

“What…” Kid starts and takes a sharp intake of breath, this body doing more weird things on its own. “Why do I keep leaking… salty water?” Was something broken?

“Uh…” Liz looks away embarrassed, “Cause you’re crying?”

That doesn’t answer Kid’s question. “What’s crying?”

Liz looks even more uncomfortable, but Patty jumps in with a grin: “It’s something you do when you’re sad, silly!”

That sounds very inconvenient. “Every time you’re sad?” 

Patty puts a finger on her chin in thought. “No, just when you get really sad. But you have to be careful, cause people will be mean to you if they see you crying!”

“… That’s terrible,” Kid says. This body is a total disaster.

“Yup! And that’s why crying is useless and you shouldn’t do it, as it’ll only make other people sad!”

Liz is now looking at Patty, but Kid doesn’t pay her much attention as they try to calm themselves down with a few deep breaths. They miss Father very much, and they are very sad, but ‘crying’ won’t solve anything.

Just as Kid brushes the last of the ‘tears’ away, another creature enters the small room, this one with short blonde hair, beige skin and pointy ears, but not with the sister’s horns or tail. He said his name is Justin and Kid was able to contact his dad when Justin entered the room in a hurry, so maybe he could help.

“Ah… young master,” Justin hesitates before addressing Kid with a small bow. “Apologies for the delay, we’ve been setting everything up—”

“You can get me to Father?” Kid cut him off. Justin is one of Father’s warlocks, creatures from other realms who agree to follow Father’s orders in exchange for a small part of their power. Father complained about them a lot and frequently called them incompetent, so perhaps Kid shouldn’t place too much stock on their abilities…

“Ah, not quite, I am afraid. We’re not sure exactly how you ended up here… but! We have a few members who are more knowledgeable of the realms and the Arcana. The only problem is that they are based in Stinpoli, that’s the capital, at the other side of the coast so it’s quite a journey unfortunately, but we are preparing an expedition to get you there as soon as possible—we’ve already sent word ahead of the situation—”

“Hey,” Liz speaks up with a cough. “Listen, before you say anything, me and Patty aren’t looking for any trouble ok? If anything, we helped you guys out, so with your blessings and all, we’ll leave…” She pokes Kid. “Hey, put in a good word for us…”

“Oh, actually, I was hoping you could help us with this matter. We’re currently shorthanded and could always use a helping hand. Plus, you already know of the situation…”

Liz side-eyes Kid. “… You want us to do escort duty?” 

“I’m assuming you have some experience with such things? Just like your previous compensation, we’re fully prepared to cover all costs, this expedition is of utmost importance—”

“Hell yeah, we can do it!” Liz cuts him off.

“Yeah, we’re the best pair of adventurers this side of the planet!” 

“Exactly!” Liz continues and flicks her hair, “I’ll have you know I am a trained ranger who got top marks at the exam—”

“And I’ve got a ukulele!” Patty says as she throws her hands up. “Her name is Mr Doot Doot and she can crush people’s brains!”

Justin clapped his hands. “Excellent! We’re still waiting for supplies, but I’m sure we can head out tomorrow morning at the latest—”

“High Priest Justin!” comes a high-pitched voice through the closed door. “It’s urgent!”

Justin gives Kid an apologetic look as he steps back to the door. “What—?”

“We need to get out now!” the person on the other end shouts. “The city’s been put on lockdown!”


	7. Breaking Procedure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz’s plans on strangling the kid have been put on hold on account of him apparently being somehow related to an eldritch deity that had turned the night into day a few hours earlier. That and because she has more important things to worry about, such as the very rich cult that wants to hire them to babysit said brat, as well as the city she very much wants to get out of being put on _lockdown_.

She doesn’t know exactly what she and her sister have been dragged into, but at least judging from the panicked warlocks—because she’s pretty sure she’s stumbled upon a secret cult, as her luck would have it—that are running around and picking up everything that isn’t nailed down, they have a shared goal in getting the hell out of dodge.

“And make sure you burn the vestments, oh Lord forgive us,” the priest commands the various cloaked people scuttling about his room, carrying out weird fabric and weirder effigies from his closet and drawers, “we mustn’t leave any evidence behind!”

A tiny goblin warlock hops between Liz’s legs, dragging behind a long dark fabric with skull-like patterns behind them. Liz squeals and holds Patty closer, who is looking at all the chaos with all the excitement of a kid at a candy store. The bane of her existence, the little brat/probable eldritch abomination, is still holding on to Patty’s sleeve, looking confused at all the people hurrying about and who occasionally stop by him for a quick bow before returning to running around like headless chickens.

The priest returns to their side after a mad dash, coming to a sliding stop like an overworked minimum wage employee at rush hour. “Young master, excuse us for this chaos, but we must leave at once. This place, this city, isn’t safe anymore—”

“How are we getting out of the city?” Liz cuts him off. These idiots aren’t gonna try to storm the gates, are they? Liz’s seen quite a few of them hurrying about this seemingly tiny church, but they can’t compare to the might of the former capital’s guard. Liz is certainly running away if they do so, she’s purely in it because of the sizable bag of gold coins promised to them.

The priest looks back as a small group of nervous warlocks stand by the door, some armed with swords and knives, others with strange books and other occult paraphernalia Liz does not want to guess the origins of. 

The priest gives the group of warlocks a nod before he turns to the sisters. “We’ll travel through the catacombs.”

Liz reconsiders their plan of escape. “T-The catacombs? You mean the Underground Labyrinth? Do you want us to starve to death or something?!” 

She should have guessed they were all mad after all! Oh, let’s escape the city through the catacombs, i.e. the deadly maze of narrow and structurally unsound tunnels that span Melissia and its suburbs! It’s not like that place is filled with traps and half-starved sentinels because a bunch of paranoids Kings and Queens were worried about peasants stealing their death masks or gold chess pieces or something! Or it’s not like she knew people from the street and from the Guild who wondered down there in search of treasure, only to never return! It’s not like the few people that return from that place tell of dead-ends and desiccated corpses and cannibals and of fucking _liches_ down there!

“We know of a path from here to the edge of the city, outside the gates,” the priest says as he takes out a roll of parchment from his robes. “We have used those tunnels in the past. I will guide us, whereas your job will be to act as guards.”

“Oh, so you trust your _safe_ path that much?”

The priest ignores her as he motions to the warlocks standing by. “Everyone, gather round! As of right now, Melissia has been put on lockdown; no one is to enter or leave the city. We believe that is because the guard has somehow realised the significance of the events that occurred last night, when an unknown group foolishly tried to capture our Lord’s child and paid for that mistake with their lives!”

The priest motions to the kid, who, to their credit, is giving off excellent ‘cursed child’ vibes, what with staring at each member of their little group with a blank expression. The warlocks, in turn, only glance at them with a mix of unease and wariness. 

“Our goal is to escort the young master safely out of Melissia and to Stinpoli, where we will meet with a fellow branch of the faithful,” the priest continues as he gestures to the warlocks. “You have been chosen for your battle prowess, as it is likely the City Guard is aware of these tunnels and has sent out a patrol. We hope to evade them, but there may be a chance we encounter a battle, so steel your resolve and prevail on the battlefield!”

The priest triumphantly raises his fists, only for the rest of warlocks to pointedly not do so. Some of them fiddle with their weapons while others curse under their breaths. Liz hears the tallest warlock, a dragonborn, mutter ‘I didn’t sign up for this shit,’ under her breath, with a stocky axe-wielding dwarf adding ‘tell me ‘bout it, I just wanted to add spellcaster to my CV.’

“... May our Lord have mercy on us all,” the priest concludes with a quick prayer, unperturbed at the lack of a reaction. “Alright then, follow me!”

As the priest exits the room, Liz wants to protest, to say they were all crazy, but the bags of coins in her lap clinks nicely.

_‘Just this one gig,’_ Liz tells herself. They’ve already made a nice sum from ‘finding’ Kid, might as well do this too and get more cash while moving to the other side of the content away from any local thieves guild out of their blood. At the end of it, they’ll be rich! They will be able to buy things and live the good life, like a house, or a yacht! 

How much did a yacht cost, anyway?

Nevermind that, maybe Liz couldn’t buy a yacht, but she could definitely put Patty through art school and then like, invest or do whatever rich people did that made them earn money without lifting a finger.

Liz tries to daydream about beachside mansions and yachts and retiring at the grand old age of nineteen, as she and Patty descend into a dark staircase from the cult’s basement and into a candle-lit stone tunnel. The priest leads the front, manifesting a small ball of light with Prestidigitation and guiding the rest of them single-file into Melissia’s underground deathtrap.

Kid is walking behind them, matching their pace. He occasionally stumbles, making the priest or another warlock give him a concerned look, but stubbornly regains his balance every time and keeps walking as if nothing happened.

“I hate this,” she hears him mutter. His voice is still unnervingly deep, but at least he’s learned how to put some emotion in it, currently sounding like a grumpy old man. “It’s noisy and disorganised.”

Liz shivers but tries to maintain a positive attitude, even as she feels the temperature drop several degrees. “I-It could be worse.” 

“How?”

“Could have cops after our butts!” Patty yells, earning her several shushes from the warlocks.

Kid gives her a confused look, so Liz decides to change the subject. Anything to keep her distracted from the very dark and very scary tunnel they were in. “So like, do you have a mom too?” she asks, keeping her voice low so that the cultists don’t lecture her on not talking to their God or whatever.

“No, I have Father.” She’s not sure if Kid picked up on her cue or whether he’s blindly copying her, but he whispers his answer back as well.

“So you don’t have a mom?” Patty adds as she leans in conspiratorially to Kid, who stumbles, then uses her for support. “That’s so cool! But, I thought everyone had a mom?”

Kid turns to her and slightly tilts his head. “Father created me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Patty turns to Liz in confusion and she shrugs. “Sure thing I guess, some crazy old God having a son out of nowhere isn’t that strange,” she mutters, making sure the cultists don’t hear her. “Or for said boy to end up here—”

“I’m not a boy,” Kid cuts her off.

Liz mentally pauses. “Wait, you’re a girl?”

“No. I am a Grim Reaper,” the Kid says with a hint of pride as he— _they_ straighten their back before stumbling and using Patty to right themselves again. 

“... You know what, sure,” Liz says after a few seconds. She’s not sure what a ‘Grim Reaper’ is, but if anything, that’s the most normal thing about them so far. “At least you ended up looking like a human.”

“Why is that good?” 

“Cause it’s like... You don’t have to deal with a lot of shit,” Liz pauses, unsure how to sum up the entirety of society in a few sentences. “You’re, like, Default Settings.”

Kid frowns at her like she’s just insulted them. “But I’m a Grim Reaper.”

“Well, you don’t look like one, you look like a human,” Liz uncomfortably says, recalling her previous disasters attempts to homeschool Patty.

Kid’s eyes narrow and they look away. “But I should look like a Grim Reaper.”

“Not here, you don’t,” Liz mutters.

Kid clutches the travelling cloak closer around them as they kick a pebble, preemptively holding on to Patty for support, who giggles but doesn’t seem to mind. “I want my Father.”

Liz groans. Ugh, at least she’s getting paid for this. No good deed goes unpunished and all.

Meanwhile, Kid is tearing up again, only to blink rapidly and rubbing his eyes.

“... It’s ok to cry,” Liz says before she can stop herself. “... Just don’t do that in public cause people are assholes, but still—”

“It makes my vision blurry and my breaths uneven. I don’t like it—”

“Who’s there?!” an unfamiliar voice shouts around a corner as a foreign torchlight just barely catches the toe of one of the priest’s shoes before they silently dash back. They all stop at once, staying still so as to not make a noise.

Liz mentally curses. Fuck, had they heard them talking? Her eye catches the priest as he gestures to the dragonborn cultist, finger over his mouth as he gives him a hand signal.

While Liz doesn’t recognise the gesture, she certainly recognises the spell as the dragonborn cultist whispers a small arcane incantation under their breath, hands drawing sigils that Liz barely can’t read—

Invisibility.

‘ _Oh thank fuck, they’re gonna shroud all of us,_ ’ Liz thinks as the priest nearby silently completes the spell, but then they only touch the priest, Kid, and themselves—

_Selfish son of a—!_

The torchlight casts harsh shadows behind them all, and Liz blinks, her vision going white after spending so long in the dark.

“ _There! Warlocks!_ ” comes a shrill voice as a woman in full plate bearing Melissia’s emblem—a double-headed chained lion—rounds the corner, followed by a small battalion of guards pouring through the narrow tunnels. 

“We’re not warlocks!” Liz immediately yells back. “Uh—we—were taken hostage! Help! Please! These people are _crazy_!” She all but bats her eyelids at the guards, like one of those pathetic damsels in distress that’s in every other movie she and Patty sneak into. 

Patty too is trying her best to look all young and small and definitely innocent, per Liz’s ‘Pity us please, we’re just poor little captured orphans being used for a nefarious plot!’ routine, an act that’s only helped by the wide-eyed tiny Kid, whose hand she’s holding.

Most of the warlocks throw her dirty looks, but Liz is focused on the guards, who seemed slightly taken aback. Yet moments later, their leader’s gaze hardens as she readies her shield—

A shimmering green arrow whizzes past her head and into the raised shield and bursting into a spray of acid. She looks back to see the now-visible priest with one hand on his weird skull-pendant and the other outstretched, a bright green glow burning between his fingers.

The guards yell obscenities, the warlocks answer with even more obscenities, and Liz thinks sweet revenge on the fucker who almost melted her head with a Goddamned Acid Arrow.

“ _H-Hey_! You nearly hit one of us!” Liz yells over the pandemonium in the most innocent, scared voice she can muster, hoping that the confusion that she has brought will help with her little routine, even going so far as to curl her tail back behind her like a kicked mutt. “See, we’re not with them, honest—!”

“Get ready to rock-and-roll, motherfuckers!” Patty yells and before Liz can stop her, she takes out her ukulele, primes it like a rockstar. Liz barely has enough time to cover her ears as Patty strums the tiny strings and lets loose.

A horrible and painfully loud ringing noise comes from the inconspicuous instrument. The guards brace and flinch, some holding on to their metal armour as the trapped sound travels across it. The warlocks fare just as bad, mostly clutching their ears. Liz grinds her teeth as the sound over her and cracks one eye open to spy Kid tense and collapse against the rock wall. The sound reverberates in the tunnel, followed by muffled cracks and rumbles that hopefully do not originate from their planned escape route.

Patty grins at the fallen guards, but her expression somewhat sobers up when she sees Liz and Kid. “Oops, sorry, I did it again, didn’t I?” And though her tone is childish, Liz can tell that she’s still trying to sound repentant at least. It’s not like her pathetic attempt to play dumb was working either.

The guards lunge at them and Liz barely manages to drag Patty and Kid away from the barrage of swords and spears, retreating behind the line of warlocks who are lining up tomes, axes, and swords. A unison of eldritch blasts explodes from them, as multiple beams of crackling black energy zig-zag and hit the guards, each resulting in a small explosion of skull-shaped mist and occasionally taking a piece of chain mail or limb with it.

Liz thinks about cheering them for being such good meat shields, but then the warlock in front of her, the stocky dwarf, ends up with a sabre poking through his side and falls down, trampled by a guard who makes a beeline for the teens.

Liz tries to scramble back, but her body hits a wall and all she can do is pull Kid and Patty behind her as the guard readies his fist.

A dull throbbing pain explodes over her left cheek, the studded iron of a gauntlet crashing across her face and rattling her teeth with the blow her head hits back on the wall. Her knees give out and she falls, only for the same gauntlet to grab her jacket, further ripping it, as it readies another blow.

Liz spits blood at her attacker and gives him a feral grin as she raises her hand. Her claws grow red, and the guard lets her go, his eyes growing wide in realisation and fear.

‘ _He’s got a pretty face_ ,’ Liz thinks as she closes her hand and her vision goes red, then white. ‘ _A shame_.’

“ _ΚΟΛΑΣΜΕΝΗΕΠΙΠΛΗΞΗ_!” Liz commands, her voice harsh and grating as she speaks her mother tongue. Her vision returns as the guard’s face explodes into a brilliant display of orange roaring flames. His face slackening for just a moment as if confused by the sudden light before he gives a humorously pitched scream of pain and goes down, desperately trying to put himself out by rolling in the ground as the smell of cooking flesh spreads into the air like a thick mist.

Liz spits a globule of blood out of her mouth, the bitter taste of sulphur coating her tongue, and stands back up with a snort. “What goes around comes around, asshole.”

She hears a yell and turns to see Patty run ahead and clock somebody in the face with the butt of her crossbow and immediately fire a bolt into somebody else’s arm in the same move.

That was a hard one for her to get down, Liz faintly recalls as she draws her own crossbow, seeing that her sister has noticed her quiet approach and has now moved into melee to distract them. It took Patty two weeks to get even the dexterity of the move down, seeing her do it so effortlessly now...

Gosh, if they weren’t fighting for their lives, it would almost bring a tear to her eye.

Something softly touches the back of her head. Liz hisses and instinctively brings up her crossbow, only to see Kid, who retracts their hand and stares at the blood on their fingertips. “Liz, are you—?”

“Stand back, Kid, we’ll take care of these fucks,” she cuts them off and pushes them back again. “Hey, just so you know, I’m the only one protecting the kid here, I want a pay rise!” she yells at the warlocks as an in-fight banter, only to see many of them on the ground, bleeding or unconscious, or worse. Those still standing include the dragonborn one, with several arrows protruding from them, and the priest, surrounded by a thinning yellow force-field, sporting a black eye, as well as a couple of others looking worse for the wear. 

The guards on the other hand, are mostly standing upright, with only a few of them a bit more singed or incomplete. Some of them must have fallen back, but that’s probably because they have a backup healer somewhere in the tunnels or because they’ve run off to call for reinforcements.

“Throw me a light, I got one!” She calls, mimicking the deep, throaty voice of one of the guards as her form shifts to that of the man she just disfigured for the rest of his life—

And although she doesn’t find joy in it, even she can’t help but to admit the satisfaction that fills her as she watches her crossbow bolt sink into the eye of the man who has turned to look at her, pausing mid-swing behind her sister.

Gods, as soon as they are out of this battle she is going to shake that priest down for all he’s worth for getting them all into this mess, assuming they get out of it in one piece. Liz is no strategic genius, but even she can tell they’re fucked.

She’s trying to think of a way to sneak by them all, when Patty cries out in pain as the head guard grabs her by the hair and tackles her.

Liz’s crossbow is immediately pointed at the bitch who dared lay a hand on her sister, but the two become a tangle of limbs and she can’t get a clear shot, damn them-!

“Patty!”

To make matters worse, the idiot brat jumps into the fray as well, trying to grab the guard’s hands only for her to backhand him and refocus on Patty. Kid’s neck and body bend awkwardly but they remain upright and stubbornly cling onto the guard as Patty yells and thrashes — and of course she is, that bastard grabbed her by the hair and Patty is sensitive about her hair being touched let alone pulled at—!

Liz puts her crossbow away and is about to run in there and personally deliver a haymaker, when Kid lets out a frustrated cry and the world around them _bends_.

Liz has heard of many urban legends among warlocks, and one of them is that you can tell the type by how the world distorts around them. Supposedly, warlocks of infernal patrons smell of brimstone and their eyes glow red whenever they cast a spell. Archfey warlocks smell like pollen and wet dirt and have sing-song voices that can lull an insomniac to sleep. Yet when it comes to Great Old One warlocks, she’s heard of everything, from smells ranging from rotting flesh, to fresh parchment, from oddities like blank eyes, to being accompanied by whispers.

What accompanies Kid is a complete and utter blankness.

The tunnel’s stale and musty air disappears, as do the lights, the sounds, and everything besides Kid and the guard. Colours out of space flicker then disappear into pitch black, as dark tendrils trail up Kid’s skin from under their cloak. The white lines on their hair glow like half-formed halos. Liz’s heart beats against her chest, as she feels something pass by her, a smaller scale of last night’s shockwave that had her tense in cold sweat, staring up at the sky, where stars rotated wildly, as if years were condensed into seconds.

And Liz is struck with a sudden acute terror at the creature before her.

She has to run. She has to run, to get away from that thing, but her sister’s right there and she can’t breathe—!

Liz blinks and as quickly as it came, the terror rushes away from her. Liz can feel the damp coldness of the catacombs, she can hear the low whoosh of a breeze, and she’s left alone with a crouching Patty, a dazed Kid, and the fallen. Patty is on the floor, but she’s shifting upright. Kid is by her and they offer a hand to help but Patty bats it away and shields her head.

“Patty,” Liz breathlessly says as she rushes to her sister’s side. She’s still clutching her head, but somewhat eases when she sees her big sister. 

Liz breathes out a sigh of relief. Patty’s ok. She’ll probably be a little more physically distant for the next couple of hours, but she doesn’t look hurt. Thank goodness for small miracles...

“Y-Young Master,” the priest slowly says as he sits up against the wall. He looks like he’s been used as live target practice. His robes are torn at several spots and stained red by the accompanying gashes. An arrow is stuck on his calf, and one of his ears is torn, like someone yanked off an earring.

“You’ve managed to manifest some of your power. T-that’s great!” the priest says with a cough. “I only wish I had been in a better state to witness it.” 

Shit, is he dying? None of his injuries seemed grievous, but Liz can’t tell how much blood he has lost or if he broke something internally...

There’s noise coming from the tunnels. The sound of echoing footsteps grows louder.

The priest’s expression hardens, and he undoes the small pouch tied around his waist. “You must leave. Follow the path and leave.” He hands Kid his pouch and leans back against the wall. “I’ll... I’ll catch up, eventually. But, you must get to Stinpoli and find the local chapter there.”

Kid carefully holds the pouch as they glance between it and the priest with a blank expression. “Father would order you not to die yet.”

“O-Of course. I’d never let down my Lord.”

“We need to go, come on,” Liz urges them on, as she yanks the map from Kid. “Stay alive weird priest, I’m coming back for my dues!”

He gives them a weak smile as his face vanishes into darkness.

_‘Shit,’_ Liz realises a bit too late.

She never got his name.


	8. Everything hits the fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha feels like she’s losing her mind. “What do you mean you’re not letting people through?!”

The guard, a bulky baby-faced human man clad in plate mail with the city’s insignia, probably a new recruit, gives her a tired look through his visor. “Ma’am—”

“It’s Professor to you, young man!” Agatha isn’t normally a stickler for honorifics, but she knows how these military types operate and she is not about to be dismissed so easily. She doesn’t expect her academic credentials to win her any favours on their own, but with any luck this idiot will think she’s part of a research group in joint cooperation with them and, just maybe, take her seriously. Chestnut is to her side and rattles impatiently.

“Ma’am, professor, I’ve told you, I’ve got my orders. We’re not to let anyone in or out of the city—”

“That’s preposterous—Why?! You can’t just… suddenly quarantine a city of three million people! Why on—Who is responsible for this?!” Agatha keeps interrupting herself as she tries to process the situation.

“Ma’am… professor,” the guard adds after a glare. “It’s a direct order from the Major General himself. No one is getting in or out.” He gestures back to where Agatha sees the city’s iron gate firmly closed, with groups of guards scattered around it and across the walls that surround the city.

“For what?! Has your idiot-in-charge finally lost his mind?! Perhaps he wants to start barricading the city too, for all the good that’ll do—!”

“It’s something to do with last night, I don’t know!” the guard yells back, gripping his spear. “Maybe they want to trap these bastards in—” the guard mutters before he catches himself, coughs and straightens his back. “In any case, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you approach the gate. It’s a matter of national security. Please, turn back and go to your home, I’m sure the Mayor will make an announcement soon—”

“You’re impeding the progress of science!” Agatha cuts him off, in loss of what else to say. She has to get out, she can’t be stuck here, not now—!

The guard is apologetic but firm. “What-? Ma’am, please—”

“Oh, I know you’re just ‘following orders’, we’ll see how happy your superiors are about you following orders when they find out how much public funding has been wasted because of your incompetence!” Another complete lie, but in her experience, this is the only other thing that could possibly get through to anyone in charge.

The guard is about to protest but only grips his spear and hums in agreement. “I can pass any complaint up to the chain of command, ma’am.”

“ _You’re not getting through to him, dear_ ,” Eibon unhelpfully informs her.

“Yes, I can see what I’m dealing with here,” Agatha says out loud. The guard gives her a tired look but remains in place. 

Agatha grinds her teeth but turns around and stomps away, chestnut following behind her. 

Blast it all! Getting to Stinpoli is hard enough on a normal day, what with their options being an exorbitantly expensive airship, a moderately priced but tenuous multi-day bus ride, or a completely dangerous and nonsensical ‘private escort transport’ i.e. hitchhiking like some no-name adventurer. Agatha was planning on the second option, having already made extensive notes on the various bus journeys and their distance/cost/time ratio, allowing for some temporary shelter as she waited between routes, but that assumed she could leave the city in the first place!

_“We still have options_ ,” Eibon says. “ _Though I’m afraid they come with some risk_.”

“And here I thought you’d be the one to tell me not to do anything stupid,” Agatha mutters as she trudges through a couple of alleyways that follow the city’s walls. They’re crawling with guards turning people away and telling them to return to their homes.

_“This development has me worried. From what I know of your world, this is a completely uncharacteristic response_.”

Agatha throws her hands in the air. A few passersby glance at her, but she’s too frustrated to care. “Exactly! ‘Matter of national security’ my ass, there’s another reason they don’t want anyone leaving this place!” 

“ _Most likely, but the possible explanations are too many and that disturbs me. Is this some ill-thought attempt to control the situation?_ ”

Agatha humphs. “Knowing them, they probably think they can trap the perpetrators and make an example out of them.” 

“ _… I sincerely hope it’s because of this combination of incompetence and idiocy and not because of something more sinister._ ”

Agatha scoffed. “Anyone smart enough for that died off long ago and thank the gods for that. Anyway, we still need to find a way out…” She pauses as she comes across a section of the wall that’s manned by a lone dragonborn guard. “Say, don’t I have a spell for that now? Making people do what I want them to?”

“ _Friends,_ ” Eibon helpfully supplies, “ _but I’m not sure that’s the wisest choice. They will be aware that a spell has been used on them, and even if you manage to leave the city, they will probably put out an arrest warrant for you_.”

Agatha narrows her eyes as she observes the lone guard lean back against the wall with a yawn. “Let them. I already have a reputation as an ‘uncooperative’ but harmless academic. We’re not at war anymore, what are they going to do, court-martial me—?”

“ _Please don’t joke about such things_ ,” Eibon quickly says and Agatha shivers as she feels his anxiety bleed through their connection. “ _If this lockdown is because of what you say, your escape may be used to frame you as the perpetrator._ ”

Eibon’s words ring true and Agatha clenches her fists. Yes, brainwashing a guard will get her in trouble, but it’ll be worth it. She knows what’s going on, she has a plan to fix things. She can’t sit around and do nothing, not again—

Yelling from the direction of the gate breaks her thoughts. She turns back and runs the way she came, even as Eibon protests.

“—I thought the assumption of all guards being small-minded cretins was just that, an assumption; and yet here you are, so _eloquently_ proving me wrong by denying me access outside—!” comes a voice that’s both haughty and sardonic, as she stops by a high-rise of flats that leads to a tiny park by the city’s gate, and crouches by a low solid fence to look into the disturbance. 

“—What part of ‘we have special orders’ is so difficult to understand—?” the voice continues, and its condescending tone is so oddly familiar it sends a shiver up her spine. 

Agatha realises who the owner of said voice is as a short manic laugh rings out, following an inaudible response. She peeks around the corner to confirm her suspicions, and her stomach drops at the sight of the angelic feathers that crown the inhumanly tall man’s head as he whips around to continue his laughter to the small crowd that had formed around them.

Franken. Stein. Her worst student to date, and one that will forever remain in her memory because of how frustrating he was. Not because he was stupid, quite the opposite in fact; He was a genius, earning top grades across all his courses with seemingly minimal effort, that last part being key.

Because Stein put zero effort in her courses. He never submitted coursework, barely attended her lectures and on the odd chance he did, he was not-so-stealthily doing something else or straight up paying no attention at all. Agatha tried to get him to engage, but her questions were met with rehearsed answers lifted straight from the textbook.

Agatha thinks herself a decent teacher. She’s won several teaching awards, from her lectures, to her supervising. She’s even been gifted a few ‘Best Supervisor’ mugs from past students and has a small collection of ‘thank you’ cards from both undergrads and postgrads. So, naturally, seeing one of the supposedly ‘greatest minds that ever graced their university’ coast through one of her classes, she had invited him to her office to talk.

The meeting had ended up in a one-sided barrage of sarcasm and smugness more befitting of a teenager than a young adult, with Agatha barely stopping herself from screaming at him thanks to Eibon’s best efforts. For the rest of that year, Stein was that one snarky brat that every unfortunate lecturer had to deal with once in a while, a soul-sucking teaching experience that unfortunately came with the field. She and Eibon popped a bottle of wine to finish the day that Stein finally moved on from her class, and aside from occasional polite nods around the town, Agatha assumed that to be the last of their interactions. Ever.

“ _… If anything, he hasn’t changed,_ ” Eibon commented. “ _He may be a useful distraction if he can catch the gate guard’s attention, all you’ll need to do is cast Invisibility while he has their atten—Wait, is that…?_ ” 

Eibon paused and followed up with something she would normally be incredibly displeased about if she too wasn’t as shocked at the other familiar face in the crowd.

She recognised a face from the crowd, a tall and towering but gentle-faced orc lady standing right behind Stein, hand awkwardly on his shoulder as he continued on his ceaseless tirade on the hapless guard.

Marie. Sweet, darling, awkward Marie, a delightful student that Agatha loved to have in her class despite the occasional road bump. One of Agatha’s favourite glassware, a wonky wine glass, was a gift from Marie after a particularly hard yet successful final exam. Marie wasn’t the most academically bright of her students, but she gave it her all, and Agatha was delighted in seeing her improve over the year. The wine glass was the cherry on top and despite the ongoing situation she felt a pang of sadness that they haven’t kept more in touch—

But why is she with Stein of all people?! She remembers they were both in the Cleric cohort, and the only explanation Agatha can come up with would be that they’ve put on the same assignment… Though, there are also the two other people in the group, a human woman in military gear, and a barely conscious human man awkwardly braced between the two women. Unless this was some odd military exercise and a miscommunication issue within the guard, Agatha has no idea what they were doing, and Stein’s increasingly aggressive and slurred demands only confuse her more…

“—I’m fucking authorising this,” Agatha hears the military woman hiss as she walks right up to the guard’s face and points at the insignia at her uniform, “let us through right now or—”

“I’m sorry lieutenant, but the order came from the Major General,” the guard said, avoiding Stein and trying to keep some measure of composure, “no one, the guard included, is to go in or out without his express permission—”

The so-called lieutenant glares at the guard and is about to speak up when a group of policemen and guards pass by her, startling her and making her think that she’s been found out and that she’s gonna be arrested and all her work will be for naught—

Agatha slinks back into the alleyway as the guards pass her by in a rush, watching with increasing dread as they begin to surround the good doctor who has dropped whatever facade of formality and is now blankly staring them all down, a hand slightly outstretched to his side covering Marie and the man she held on one shoulder.

“You—Don’t let them go through—!” The head officer raises a finger at Stein, face red from rage. “T-They’re… unauthorised resurrection, assaulting an officer, treachery, get them-!”

Oh, this seemed more in character for Stein and those military types—

The two groups are yelling at each other when one of the guards yells and falls down. Her comrades quickly pick her up and start shouting at the others, some taking out their weapons.

“ _And we have a distraction_ ,” Eibon calmly says as the guards and officers surround the other group. “ _Now all you need is to cast Invisibility and walk out and hope they haven’t set up any spells to account for that._ ”

Agatha is curious about the mess her students have been through, Marie especially, but she pushes those thoughts away. They’re grown adults now, and she has her own priorities. 

Her fingers trace the sigil for the spell somewhat shakily, dully glowing runes appearing before her eyes, sap bitter on her tongue as she slowly goes through the meandering motions of what she hopes is an Invisibility spell. Feeling a familiar tug in her mind, Agatha gives a relieved sigh and clasps her hand against her chest, finalising the spell and watching in rising awe as her figure turns translucent. The crackled cobble of the streets shows through where her hand used to be. The effect extends from her hand to the rope tied around her wrist, to chestnut.

“ _Excellent, that’s a textbook casting_!” Eibon says. “ _I find spellcasters often have trouble with spells outside their field of expertise, but of course you wouldn’t be limited by such—_ ”

“Love you too, but you’re breaking my concentration, so shush.” She whispers with a blush, as she tip-toes out of the alleyway and out into the open. She double-checks that her spell still works and hurries on, urged quietly by Eibon who is all but chattering his nerves out in her ear as she sneaks towards the now unoccupied gate.

Agatha briefly thinks up the sound of a pebble clattering amongst a herd of stampeding elephants as she creeps forwards as if that would assuage Eibon’s worry. It doesn’t, but he sends back an appreciative acknowledgement, nonetheless.

Agatha is within dashing distance from the gate when a high-pitched keel of pain echoes into the air, broken and wailing with a primal fear. She stops and turns as a guard who grabbed Stein erupts into a shower of blood, with long deep gashes forming across his body, staining his armour with red and gore.

Stein’s expression is a stoney visage of grim determination as he barks a single command in the rising commotion. “Make a run for it—!” 

Marie swings one arm and pushes back the remaining guards as their group stampedes towards the gate, right where Agatha is, and who is watching the events unfold like a deer in headlights.

She tries to run out of the way, but the scent of blood is too strong and she can only stumble, and Stein barrels into her at full speed. Agatha becomes visible as her concentration breaks and despite putting her hands in the way of her fall, her head hits the cobblestone and she squeezes her eyes shut with a silent curse of pain at the newfound stars in her vision.

Eibon’s voice comes muffled and distant as Agatha feels around her head; no blood, no wound, hopefully just a bruise…

Eibon’s worry, anger, and fear spear her through all at once and she urges him to be quiet for a second as she gathers her thoughts—

“Ah, who—? _Professor_ Agatha?” Next to her Stein has already got up and is giving her an annoyed look, enunciating her title in that same infuriating way he did a decade ago. “Why are you here?” 

Despite the fact she can hear the guards closing in, Agatha feels the urge to stay down, sigh and pop another bottle of red before she even talks to the man—

Thankfully, Stein’s not the only one who has noticed her sudden appearance, and a familiar tusked face comes into view as Marie reaches an arm down to quickly help her up. “Who—Ms Agatha, is that you—?! Are you okay!? Sorry we didn’t see you—you just, appeared out of nowhere—!”

“Invisibility spell, Marie.” Stein blankly says, his calculating, cold gaze focused on Agatha as she stands up with a grunt, using chestnut as support. “Although I didn’t know that _Professor_ Agatha had access to that spell—was it a scroll, perhaps?” 

“Hey, move it!” interrupts the unfamiliar military woman who is now fully cradling the limp, dead-looking body all by herself. “What are you doing—who are you?!”

“Uh, she’s Ms Agatha,” Marie says as she helps the woman with the limp man, “she’s a teacher from when we were at uni—”

Agatha hesitates a second, still dazed by her recent introduction to the concrete, but manages a nod as she glances to the now rapidly approaching squadron.

“Right, sure, real great of you to catch up with you, Agatha,” the woman says in one breath as she, Marie, and Stein start heading at the gate again, “but we have to move _now_ , if they catch us we’re fucked, Sid’ll be…” Her hard expression momentarily falters and Agatha glances at the semi-conscious man. His eyes are half-lidded but are a blank pupil-less white, his tongue lolling out his mouth as a grey fleshy slab…

And he keeps muttering.

“ _W-Where am I_?” His voice is dry and still, rattling and stale in his chest as he takes in clipped short breaths as if he is unsure of exactly how to breathe.

Zombies. Or at least it should be a zombie, but they are supposed to be mute mindless creatures, a body animated without its soul, yet this one is talking and the guards had screamed about an unauthorised resurrection…

“He’s dead.” Agatha says as Eibon stirs with interest.

Stein gives a grunt and tilts his head at her. “Yes, but also no.” He gives her a dry smile. “I would love to chat about the specifics, however I have just broken an incredibly important law and if we’re caught, we’ll all be executed most likely—oh and I might even be double killed for all the trouble I’m causing—”

“Don’t let them escape!” the guards yell behind her, and Agatha realises they must have seen her as well and probably think she’s part of their group.

Stein pauses and his smile widens. “ _Want to come with?_ ”

Despite the fact they don’t have time to linger around, Agatha pauses for a second to consider such a lucrative deal. 

It would be completely throwing all sense of safety out of the window. The capital may as well mark her down as an enemy of the state if she went along with it—

And yet.

“ _Even if you disengage from them and plead your innocence, you’ll be kept under harsh surveillance, and they’ll double, maybe even triple the guard down here._ ” Eibon’s voice is like a cooling salve against her mind, his worry abated in favour of comfort as he gently presses his immense consciousness against her mind. “ _You know what to do. I’ll be with you the entire way—_ ”

“Then what are we standing around for— _run_!” She yells as she immediately takes off running, her ears filled with Stein’s maniacal laughter as they move as a unit towards the gate, towards freedom.

A thin column of white fire shoots past them, and Agatha lets out an involuntary yelp. For all her bluster, she’s still an academic that prefers words over violence.

“ _Sacred flame_ ,” Eibon immediately provides, “ _put your shield up,_ now _._ ”

Her hands move her own as a new spell bursts forth from Agatha and briefly engulfs her in a blue light, before fading away and leaving behind a thin layer of frost. 

“ _Armor of Agathys,_ ” Eibon explains. “ _It’ll shield you from some damage, but it is by no means proper protection_.”

Agatha mutters a thank you as she joins the others in a mad dash towards the city gate which is starting to be closed. The guards catch up to them and Agatha is sure they’ll grab her, but Stein and Marie simultaneously cast their spells. Marie pricks her finger and utters a word of celestial and several of the guard’s gazes glaze over. Stein in turns barks a word in draconic and the remaining guards slow down as if engulfed in molasses, mouth popping open as a horrific drawing cry is pulled from them and stretched on and on.

“Watch him for me!” Naigus yells as he hands Sid over to Stein, who buckled a little with a grunt at the sudden weight as she reaches behind her back, pulls out a hunting knife and stabs the arm of the guard closest to them. Her knife gets stuck, and she clicks her tongue before pulling the guard closer and uses her leg to brace and dislodge the knife, kicking their attacker away.

They’ve reached the city walls now, but the gate is too high up unless they all cast Jump. More guards arrive from the nearby barracks and they are being surrounded.

Naigus lets out a swear as Marie looks between them and the gate. “I _—_ I could try tossing you over?!”

“And break every bone in our body?” Naigus shoots back. “We missed our chance _—_ ”

“Gaseous form!” Agatha yells. “I can use that to get us through the wall!”

“All of us?” Marie asks. “I thought that was limited—”

“Just make sure you hold my hand, Stein, you can fly over—”

“No can do,” Stein immediately says and Agatha suppresses the urge to strangle him. Even now, he simply can’t go along with someone else’s plan.

In any case, she grabs Marie and Naigus’ arm, who in turn holds Stein and Sid. Her dream journal trembles and opens on its own, flipping its pages wildly as if caught in a thunderstorm; Eibon must be putting in his _all_ on his end.

Agatha feels herself lift and become lighter as the world around her becomes less solid, like flying in a dream. She makes sure the others are with her, and she pushes herself back. Her vision is filled with grey stones before she sees the outside of the wall, then the sky as she falls back and almost goes through the floor.

“ _Careful there_ ,” comes Eibon’s voice, and she feels his power ebb away, lingering for but a second in a caress before she becomes solid and her back is against dirt, feeling like she passed through a cloud.

Chestnut is by her side, as dutiful as always, while Naigus, Marie and Stein pull themselves up.

‘ _We did it_ ,’ Agatha thinks before she cranes her head back and sees the city gate lower and a row of guards aiming crossbows at them, as a few others stationed outside the walls rush at them. ‘ _We’re dead_.’

“Stay close to me!” Stein yells as he slams his staff to the ground and a shimmering barrier forms centred around him, only a few meters in diameter. Agatha gets up and crowds close to Stein, who tenses and makes an obviously uncomfortable croak in his throat, but keeps his focus on his staff, palm splayed over the faintly glowing crystal atop it. The guards on their side of the wall stop their advance as their swords uselessly hit the barrier.

“Duck!” Naigus yells and Agatha does so only to hear multiple dull thuds. She opens her eyes and sees Naigus holding a guard and his shield at the edge of Stein’s barrier, several arrows embedded in both. “There’s more coming through, we need to slow them down!”

The gate is almost open now, and the heads of a small armada of guards are visible from its top.

Marie hands Sid to Stein and raises her hands. She becomes surrounded by ethereal energy, which she directs to the gate. The force coalesces into a wall spanning the height and width of the gate before turning invisible. A few guards stop as they see it, though a few foolhardy keep running only to collide against nothing and pound away at it uselessly. “Wall of Force, I made it much stronger than it normally is so it’ll buy us some time.”

“Good job,” Stein breathes out, as his frame slightly bends from having to support Sid. Marie gives him an apologetic look as she shifts his weight back to her.

Meanwhile, Agatha holds her hand out to Naigus. “Your weapon.”

Naigus narrows her eyes at her, and Agatha holds back a sigh. “Artificer.”

With that, Naigus relinquishes her knife. Agatha holds it, visualises thunder and she feels a discharge of static electricity surges through her and to the weapon. She hands it back to Naigus, who gives her an appreciative nod.

“What… Mira?” Sid mutters out, much clearly this time, and Naigus pushes back Agatha and goes to him. “Am I…” He slightly lifts his head and looks around. “Are we… outside? Where’s Black Star?”

Naigus’ mouth becomes a thin line. “… He’s fine. Don’t worry, he’s fine, we’ll just have to ground him when—”

“Are we fighting?” Sid mutters as he slowly turns his head at Stein’s barrier.

‘ _You won’t last long like this_ ,’ Eibon says and Agatha finds herself in agreement. She looks around and spots a buggy next to the outside encampment.

She promptly shakes Marie and points at the vehicle. Marie follows her direction and nods before she relays their new plan to Stein and Naigus.

“We need cover from the archers and we need to get through the guards here,” Naigus says and points to the outside of Stein’s barriers where they were completely surrounded by now-patient guards.

“I think I have about one more spell slot on me before I collapse,” Stein calmly says, his eyes barely open and glazed with an arcane glow. “But sure. Just don’t get turned into a pincushion—”

“Take care of the archers.” Marie takes out a war hammer, its base as big as a human’s head. She squares her shoulders and a few of the guards step away. “I’ll clear us a path.”

Stein takes in a deep breath and lifts his staff. Their protective barrier is gone. Marie rushes out with a roar, smashing her war hammer against a flimsy shield, shattering it in pieces. The shield’s owner falls to their feet and scrambles away along with some of their compatriots, while a few others are frozen in place. Magic gathers around Stein, distorting the air around him as the feathers in his hair seemingly glow. 

Then he slams the staff in the ground once again, accompanied by a cracking sound Agatha recognises from her realm-hopping experiments. There’s a glow above them and she cranes her head to take in a massive translucent spirit. Its body is circular like a snowman, with two large beady eyes and a stitched-up smile.

The archers let out a barrage of arrows and the spirit madly wobbles with a hollow moan, catching them all and having them suspended halfway through it.

“Go, go!” Naigus yells as she hauls Sid to the pickup truck. Agatha follows behind them, panting wildly. A guard escapes through Marie’s rampage and tries to make a grab for her but an order of ‘Chestnut! Bite!’ has them running back yelling about mimics as her homunculus rattles ominously behind them.

They reach the pickup truck, and Naigus slams her dagger through its window and unlocks the door. She shoves Sid through, then goes into the driver’s seat and leans down, ripping cables out in a worrying manner.

Marie follows behind them, dragging an exhausted Stein, and climbs into the back of the truck, the vehicle groaning under their weight.

There’s a small spark from Naigus and the engine ignites. She quickly undoes the handbrake, shifts gears and they’re off, away from Melissia under a wave of arrows.


	9. Country Road Take Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> GORE WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER

Patty is having the time of her life. After they fought those nasty guards, they kept going down the weird tunnels. Her big sis was so worried they’d get lost, but she’s smart, so she guided them through the maze-like underground to the city outside — even if they had to go through some stinky sewer tunnels at the end.

Now, they were in a small forest on the outskirts of the city. Patty’s been here for training once, along with Liz, where they stole a bunch of oranges from a nearby orchard and used them for target practice. And now they were here again, away from that city that made her sis worried all the time, away from those awful guards and going on an adventure!

Patty raised her hands up as she hopped over an exposed tree root. “This is so cool!”

Her sis groaned. “I miss civilization already… How are we gonna make it to Stinpoli? It’s on the other side of the continent, people usually get airships to get there… Maybe we can catch a bus? Or hitchhike…? But we have to get a road first…” 

Patty slows her pace, letting her sister think and talk to herself out loud. Liz is good at planning, so Patty leaves her to do that. She falls back to where Kid is, who has been stumbling less and less since they left the city and has now settled into an even walking speed. “Watcha doing?” 

“Looking,” Kid absent-mindedly said as they looked around, from the small brambles and roots on the ground, to the worn bark, to the thick foliage that shielded them from the bright afternoon sun. “So these are all… trees?”

“Yes! Oh, but that’s a bush!”

Kid slowly nods, then pauses by the bush. His eyes widen and he kneels down by some brambles at what initially looks like a rock. “What’s that?”

Patty leans down as well, and her smile widens. “Oh, that’s a turtle!” She pokes them on the shoulder. “Hey, do you want to learn a cool trick?”

Kid gives her an eager nod.

“Ok, so we need to find a flat rock, and then you put it upside down and _spin it_ —”

“What are you two on about?” Her sis asks, and frowns when she sees them huddled around the turtle. “Come on, we got to get a move on, leave that poor thing alone—”

“Aw, do we have to Sis?”

“Can we not take them with us?” Kid eagerly asks. “Their exterior is perfect! Unlike everything around it, including so many of these so-called trees, this creature has an excellent design! Its shape is perfectly mirrored, I admit there are some imperfections with its pattern, but nothing that can’t be fixed I’m sure—”

“No, you’re not _keeping_ the turtle, put it _down_ and keep _walking_ ,” Liz cuts them off with a groan. Kid frowns but acquiesces and Patty tags along with a giggle. “Ugh, I think you’re worse now that you can talk…”

“Don’t worry Kid, there are plenty of cool animals out there!”

And Patty starts rambling about animal fun facts she’s learned and Kid _listens_.

Patty likes to talk a lot about a lot of things. There’s just a lot of fun things out there and she wants to share them with people, but she doesn’t know many people and those she does try to talk to always seem disinterested, so Patty tries not to do that no matter how much she wants to. Her sis is the best listener, but Patty can sometimes tell she’s bored and not really interested in what she has to say. Kid though, maybe because they’re a wacky space alien—or something close to that—listens in rapt attention and nods and occasionally asks questions. 

And to think Patty tried to smash their head in when they first met—! 

A scream echoes through the forest. Her sis stills and shushes them. Patty goes quiet, as does Kid.

The forest is still around them, the only movement being a warm southern wind as it passes through foliage. Patty hears the low rumble of a nearby stream, then some scuffling ahead of them.

Liz turns back to face them. ‘ _Move back,_ ’ she mouths and takes a slow step backwards, careful not to step on any dry foliage.

Patty covers her mouth with her hands and copies her sis. She glances sideways to see Kid frowning from where the sounds came. Their eyes get a glazed-over look, and as her sis lays a hand on their shoulder, they bolt forward.

“No, fuck!” Her sis yells as she follows after them, Patty tagging closely behind her. “You piece of shit, I swear to Bahamut--!”

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

They’re here. It took a second, but Kid can _sense_ them. The pathetic, _disgusting_ , wretched creatures that dare defy Father’s Order, the bottom feeders of the cosmic food chain, the cause of Father’s headaches.

Soul eaters.

Kid dashes through the foliage, pushing past low branches, ignoring the spiky bushes and weeds that scratch their legs, and they come across a shallow stream and a camp full of panicking people. Their uniforms are similar to the ones that pursued them in the catacomb, so Kid tenses, but they’re more preoccupied with what’s wreaking havoc behind a small circle of tents.

“Fall back!” a moustachioed man calls to his panicking compatriots as they rush past Kid, retreating into the forest. “Call for backup, no I don’t know what the hell got into them—Where did _you_ come from?!” the man exclaims as he collides with Kid.

A scream comes from the tent and is abruptly cut off, and Kid can see it this time, a soul extinguished and consumed by the putrid pus-filled Kishin egg. 

They lunge forward only for the moustachioed man to grab them by the collar. “Have you gone mad, boy?! Get out of here, this is no place for—”

“Hey, come back you piece of shit!” comes Liz’s voice as she and Patty emerge through the foliage. “What the hell got into you—Shit, guards—”

“More of you?!” the moustachioed man yells over her. “Where are you coming from, get away from here—!”

Another scream comes, and a body is flung over the tents, collapsing one of them. Its lower torso is missing, its intestines tangling with the still-standing tent stills, staining the canvas a macabre red. 

The moustachioed man gasps, face sweaty and pale, eyes rolling under eyelids with fear as his grip slackens. A figure emerges from the tents, its form obscured by the distance and foliage. Kid can only see odd bits of inflamed red flesh, tinged with pustules of yellow and malignant black, bubbling and rolling over each other, but even at a glance it seems as disorderly and repugnant as its form.

There is no question as to what Kid has to do. Soul eaters broke the fundamental rule when it came to souls. Their existence is not permitted, disallowed, yet they keep appearing like weeds. And now, Kid has the chance to directly face one, as their Father did a very long time ago. So, they sprint forwards, heart beginning to hammer in their chest as the smell of blood and piss meets their nose and they skid to a stop about sixty feet away from the strange amalgamation of flesh and teeth.

Kid hasn’t seen much of this realm’s inhabitants, but even with such limited knowledge the creature is simultaneously familiar and sticks out like a sore thumb. 

The arrangement of its torso is vaguely like the body Kid is in, with a torso, four limbs and a head. One of the lower limbs still resembles a skinny pockmarked leg, but the skin slowly bubbles and reddens before it’s absorbed inwards like a giant bull of putty, completely with a disgusting slurping, squelching sound that should never come from such a place. Its surface rolls over itself, uncovering snail-like eyes and several gaping maws, with chattering, gnashing, misaligned teeth, bigger than Kid’s head.

“I am not dying,” one of the mouths gurgles with an old woman’s voice, trembling and weak despite its form. “I am _not_ dying. Idiots, they failed and now they’re going to rue us all!”

The abomination is surrounded by a few people, most of whom are too injured or too scared to move. One of them is entangled with the creature, though on the side facing away from Kid.

“More,” the monster rasps in a low moan as its tentacles tighten around its prey. Its body slightly turns and Kid sees the broken body of a guard. Their plate armour is crushed at the legs and arms, preventing them from moving, although their eyes are clear and alight with fear and pain and momentarily meet Kid’s.

“R-Run,” Blood bubbles from the corners of their lips as the guard gives a rattling cough and devolves into a set of small whimpers as the monster engulfs them with methodical steps, each one making a noise akin to trying to remove one’s leg from deep in a bog. Blood blooms from wherever the creature touches them and they thrash in pain before going still, blood oozing from their mouth in a gurgling stream that splutters with each step despite their stilled heart and lungs.

“I need more,” the creature gurgles once again in a low moan as one of its mouth closes in on the guard’s neck and snaps it. “More.” 

The guard dies and their soul is now vulnerable, soon to become prey to that abomination, it’s blue and soft and _so, so scared_ they can see it trembling as it floats there, helpless. Kid feels a pain in their chest at the prospect of it being devoured and they stride towards it, trudging through debris and blood and bone, only to stop with a hiss when they step on a sharp piece of wood.

The creature stills, and one of its eyes rotates and falls on Kid. Their body reacts on its own once again, that steady thump in their chest suddenly increasing and their throat drying up, but the only emotion they feel is disgust.

“Hey!” Liz comes after him again, accompanied by two sets of footsteps, one of them probably Patty’s. “Do you have a death wish—Oh, _fuck…_ ”

The abomination’s eye dilates in joy as a wet, slurping sound erupts from the pulpy mouth of the creature, malignant tumours burst upon the rotten surface of the agitated, red flesh of the thing as it speaks.

“Children!” it croons. “Come closer to grandmother, won’t you? I want to get a better look at you…”

There are pairs of rotten, cracking hands grabbing Kid from behind trying to pull them away, but Kid resists and wrestles themselves free, their gaze focused on the abomination and the little soul in its clutches. This is their duty as a Grim Reaper, as Father’s…

Sucking in a deep breath between their teeth, Kid reaches for the ember of their Father’s power, the faint but comforting presence that’s kept them sane over the past couple of hours. And, though the wish for the power to annihilate the abomination before them, Kid reaches out with love.

There’s a connection, they feel his Father’s immense consciousness, overpowering to all but them, turn in their direction—

“ _Kid? Ki_ —” 

Something snaps, smothering the ember entirely and severing their connection to Father. Their body protests, but their body is _weak_ , so Kid still reaches out for Father, sinking their fingers into the endless abyss where their father’s presence has taken up space inside of them, desperately reaching for a connection, a power that was no longer there, even as they yell and scream for him in their head.

Something in Kid breaks and Father’s power does come through, coalescing against the same spell used to scatter the guards in that cramped tunnel. 

Their knees give out and their vision blurs, but they can focus enough to see the moustachioed man standing between them and the monster, his gleaming sword ready. They turn back and yell something, probably at the sisters who have grabbed Kid again and are dragging them past the ruined line of tents, back towards the stream.

Kid manages to crane their head up to see the moustachioed man lunge into the creature and have his sword caught among its multitude of limbs. His face is one of pure undiluted terror and the monster lets out an ecstatic scream as one of its mouths opens wide and latches around his midsection. The creature pulls at the man’s limbs as he is raised high into the air as the beast cranes itself backwards, letting out a victorious roar that mixes with the man’s pained, gurgling screams.

Another one. Another soul Kid has to…

They raise their hand and opt for a smaller attack this time, something that Kid can do with their barebone connection to their father, something that will distract the monster from the vulnerable soul in its grasp.

Skull-shaped shadows cackle around Kid’s fingertips, coalescing into an orb that launches itself at the creature. It hits one of its eyes, and Kid’s power coalesces into a black orb around it and explodes with a mute blast, leaving behind a charred stump.

It’s not enough, Kid realises. Their attack barely hurt that monster, they need more power to take it down…

“Stop that!” Liz hisses and hits them on the back of the head, not enough to hurt them but enough to stop them from blasting that creature again. “You’re going to get us killed!” Her voice cracks and this is the most scared Kid has ever heard her. “Why can’t you just run away like a normal person—?!”

Her voice is muffled by a loud crash as the monster rolls over the tent line and after them, leaving behind a red trail like a slug. “Children,” it croons, “don’t run away, let me have a good look at you…”

“Get away from Sis!” Patty yells. “ΠΥΡΟΤΕΧΝΗΜΑΤΑ!”

A few dying embers between the tents and the stream fizzle and die out before letting out a thick plume of smoke, spreading around the creature and obscuring it from view. Liz picks up Kid in a cattle hold, and they can do little to resist, and she and Patty cross the shallow stream, keeping out of range of the smoke. 

They’ve almost made it to shore when a veiny tendril shoots out, pulsing and _wet_ with _something_ , and wraps around Liz’s calf. She falls down with Kid on top of her, as the creature lumbers forward. It towers over them, stinking of flesh and guts and alcohol. Its mouths are red with dried blood, and one of them is still chewing on the remains of the moustachioed man, thick droplets of blood and fat sliding down from it. Its eyes are focused on all of them, all narrowed in joy, pure rapture at what it’s doing.

Liz screams and scrambles under him and Kid has to act now, they can’t that repugnant beast get away from eating souls, they have to kill it, they have to…

Kid reaches again for Father’s power and ignores the anxious but intelligible feedback with a pang of guilt, focusing solely on casting.

The surrounding area darkens as if the sun suddenly set. A small point of darkness emerges from the ground, expands several meters before rising up in a spherical shape and keeps expanding. For a moment Kid thinks they’ve successfully contacted home, but the cacophony of soft whispers and slurping noises is as alien as this realm Kid ended up in.

The creature backs away from them, regarding the spell with fear. Their chest is burning again like last time, but Kid wills the sphere to expand as it is supposed to. As its diameter grows so does Kid’s exhaustion, until their fingers let out a final tremble and fall to the ground, unresponsive. 

The spell fizzles and dies.

“ _No—_ ” Kid exhales as they fall to their knees, eyes beginning to slip shut, watching as the monster turns fully towards them, an amalgamation of misplaced muscle and patches of dead watery skin that slough off at points like oil upon water. 

“You…” the creature rumbles as it wraps itself around Kid, it’s warm and so, so _wrong_. They try to move, their arms, their legs, their eyes, but nothing did, as if they are a foreign entity watching the world from a stranger’s senses. “That was…”

As Kid is lifted up, their head rolls back and they catch a glimpse of the sisters. Liz is sitting up, frozen in fear as she stares at Kid and the creature. Patty is by her side, trying to lift her up and screaming bloody murder. Kid wants to yell at them to run, to get away before this monster eats them, but they can’t move.

“I knew you were after me,” the creature continues as it brings Kid’s head upright to face it. Its eyes cluster around them, making wet clicking sounds as they blink at him, wide with anxious curiosity. “I knew running away from the city would be useless. Another false promise from those two and all their useful idiots.”

It moves Kid around as if expecting to see a second head or something as repulsive as its own form.

“But if you’re that weak, we shouldn’t have worried! Though how did you manage to escape them so far? They’re burning up the city trying to find you…” it gurgles. “But no matter. This is the promised power of the Gods, and it only took a couple of peasant souls to achieve. And they were so tasty…” It raises up and Kid is lifted further off the ground. One of its many mouths opens wide and a hot and disgusting breath emanates from it. “So your soul must be all the more exquisite—”

A bolt plants itself in its open mouth, dislodging a few teeth. The monster howls and reels back, dropping Kid who falls on his side, facing away from the stream. One eye is underwater and their vision is blurred, but from the other they see Patty with her crossbow aimed at the monster. Liz is by her side, halfway turned between her and the forest, and she’s clutching her sister’s sleeve as if to guide her away.

“Get away from my friend!” Patty yells at the monster and swings her crossbow as if throwing a tantrum. “You can’t eat them, they’re _my_ friend!” Her voice cracks and before Liz can stop her, she’s loading another arrow onto her crossbow.

A tentacle shoots out, aimed at Patty’s head, and Kid wants to cry out in warning, but they’re still trapped in this unmoving body. Liz pushes Patty away, and the tendril hits her on the clavicle. She yells and falls back, her skin inflamed and charred from where the monster hit her. She struggles to get up and clutches the wound with a pained cry.

“No, Sis!” Patty yells as she rushes to Liz, and Kid can’t see or hear her well, but they think she’s crying. “Get away from her, go die, you bastard!”

“I am already full,” the abomination rumbles, “but I can make more space for you two since you are so eager…”

‘ _Father? Father, please, can you hear me?!_ ’ Kid weakly calls out into the void, continuing to reach for a presence that isn’t there. ‘ _Please, we need help, it’s going to eat them—_!’

But there’s no response and all Kid can do is watch, as sharp pebbles dig into their skin and water blurs their vision.


	10. Blood in the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first thing Maka hears is the screams, followed shortly by the smell of blood. They’re in a small unnamed forest just outside of Melissia, planning to go around the city to one of the closer settlements on the coast. So far they’ve been following a shallow stream that runs through the area, and besides the occasional bird, it’s eerily quiet.

“Something’s wrong,” she says as Spirit and Soul stop their umpteenth round of antagonising each other. “I think I heard something scream.” She sniffs. “And I can smell blood.”

Soul, who up to this point has been arguing with her dad about what types of music are ‘cool’ or ‘lame’, looks around and scratches the back of his neck. “It’s a forest. Maybe it’s a wolf that caught something.”

“This place isn’t supposed to have wolves. It’s used as a training ground, so it should be safe,” Spirit says, then sighs. “Then again with what happened last night… Maybe something was summoned here, and that’s why Melissia is closed off. I swear, back in my day—”

“Shut up.” The words are out of her mouth before she realises they are, although she makes no attempt to take them back as she stills completely and listens. Maka hears footsteps, this time much closer, and readies her axe on instinct. Soul and Spirit must have heard it too and ready their weapons in turn. Whoever is making those noises is making a mad dash, not caring if the whole forest hears them. 

A dwarven man jumps out of the bushes and runs downstream. He sports the typical Melissia city guard uniform, but his helmet is gone and there is a nasty, still-bleeding gash on his cheek. 

“Hey!” Soul says and walks in the man’s way, only for him to collide head-first and tumble down as Soul stepped back. “Dude, the hell—?!”

“Out of my way, _run_ —!” 

The man gets up and pushes past Soul only for Spirit to catch him at the last moment, and as the three struggle to bring the panicked man to a halt, they end halfway in the stream. “Hey, what’s going on—?”

The man struggles against Spirit’s hold, his eyes wide and frantically scanning the serene forest. “Let me go, it’s a monster! A monster, it… it was supposed to be a fucking escort mission and then she—!”

His next words are an illegible stream of strangles noises. Spirit frowns and Soul pokes Maka and makes a cuckoo sign.

“What monster, do you need help?” Spirit asks slowly. “We can help out, got a Mr. Paladin hotshot if you want help with a monster—”

“ _Hey_ ,” Soul protested, “why are you singling me out—?”

“You’re a Paladin, aren’t you? You’re supposed to deal with these things as they come—”

“You’re adventurers too—”

“Bards and Barbarians,” Spirit cuts him off. “We are free as the wind, following adventure’s call etc, etc… And it _is_ weird how you decided to stick around with us after the party officially disbanded…”

“I’m just making sure you idiots don’t die, part of my _‘Paladin duties’_ and all.”

“Don’t play dumb with me boy, I’ve been seeing how you eye my daughter—”

“ _Dude_ ,” Soul shoots back with more force than usual, “chill, you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack, old man—”

“Who are you calling old man—?!”

“ _Let me go_!” the guard yells and makes both of them fall silent. “Have you gone _mad_ , why are you sitting around here for…?!” His eyes fall on Maka and Soul and his yelling dies down. “Oh Gods, w-were those three with you?”

Maka feels a knot form in her stomach. “Who?”

“The kids, the…” the guard lets out a strangled sob, “oh Gods, I’m so sorry, it was supposed to be a fucking escort mission…”

As the guard’s words devolve into more illegible sobbing, Maka feels something weird brush past her leg that’s in the stream.

She looks down as a small piece of flesh drifts by her ankle and continues downstream. The water is red.

Without thinking, she takes out her axe, grabs Soul by the hand and runs upstream, her dad frantically following her moments later.

The more she runs, the stronger the smell of blood becomes, and mixed with the stench of guts and corpses. She almost gags, so she tries to focus on her other senses, but she hears distant screams that don’t help her stomach. The stream stays shallow, and the debris they come across, from small pieces of wood to a half-eaten hand, makes her grip her axe harder.

The stream bends and whatever is causing this rampage is around a stout sycamore tree. The inhumane screams are joined by a girl’s hysterical screaming.

Maka rounds the bend and comes across a nightmare.

Before her is a… monster, for lack of a better term, as she hasn’t seen anything like that described in the various monster field manuals she’s read over the years. It’s a mass of flesh, lips with shark-like mouths and protruding eyes, with various tendrils forming and unforming out of it. Some are wrapped around a boy around her age, who’s lying on the stream and who seems to be comatose but with his eyes open. The others are pinning down two girls, a tall one who’s using her arrow to stab at the various tendrils crowding around her, and a smaller one who’s thrashing wildly. 

Maka doesn’t have to think as she brings her axe down and cuts off the tendrils holding the two girls down. The creature stumbles back and her dad takes the opportunity and dislodges the other kid off the monster too, while Soul positions himself between it and the teens.

“Who…?” the tallest girl dazedly says as she’s sequestered away by her dad after he hauls the boy on his back. 

“Careful you two,” Spirit says as he herds the two girls away on the other side of the stream. “Hey Paladin boy, you good?”

“Just peachy!” Soul yells as the monster forms new tendrils and launches them at Soul. He brings up a gauntlet to catch them, and braces against them when they try to pull him in, giving an opening for Maka to swing her axe and cut them down again.

As the monster howls in pain, Maka stares at it, at the blood and bodies spread around it, as her rage bubbles and condenses into a white-hot point. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and embraces that fury, feeling her muscles tense and her mouth pulled back into a snarl.

Her vision narrows into a small focus and it is all taken up by the monster. There’s a white shape by her, an ally as far as she can tell, but all she cares about is killing the beast before her.

The monster yells and lunges at her. Maka roars back just as loud and readies her axe, but the white shape jumps in front of her and blocks its attack. Maka is momentarily annoyed, but that feeling is gone when she unhinges her jaw and lets out a torrent of flame at her enemy. The creature howls as it steps back again and wobbles in a feeble attempt to extinguish itself, the smell of cooked, rotting meat fills her senses.

But Maka is not finished, and she rushes past the white shape to bury her axe in the monster, this time cutting off a large bulbous protrusion that spits and splutters wetly against the burning flames as it flops to the ground and out of her eyesight.

A bolt whizzes past them and hits one of the monster’s eyes with a disgusting popping sound. Maka turns around with a growl thinking there’s an enemy behind her, but she sees the biggest of the red shapes has her crossbow out with tears and her eyes as her dad fusses over them and the smaller black shape, but because she’s not an enemy Maka doesn’t care and she turns her attention back to the monster. 

The white shape is in her way again, so Maka does what she always does when he annoys her in battle. She grabs him, bodily lifts him up — she hears a resigned “there we go again” but ignores it — and punts him at the enemy.

Her enemy howls as the impact sends it reeling back. The white shape gets up as Maka rushes to it and their weapons are simultaneously buried at its sides. Their blades sink deep, with bits of flesh and blood rushing freely from it, as if it’s being gutted, thin bands of sinew snap like a broken bridge and pustules of black and rot burst under their weapons as they bring them down. 

The monster yells again as its whole body jerks away from their weapons, its top coming apart from its bottom with a squelching, tearing sound. Maka brings back her axe to bury it at the top of the creature’s head, but her hand and handle are slicked by its innards and her grip falters as her weapon slips out of her grasp. Next to her, the white shape as well is having difficulties dislodging its weapon from the lower half of the monster. By the time Maka grabs her axe, the monster has already reformed its bulbous legs and is scuttling away with surprising speed, already barely seen thanks to the surrounding foliage.

Maka growls and steps forward to chase it down, but something’s holding her forearm and pulling her back. Maka doesn’t turn around, but she keeps trying to chase after, though she only manages to take a few halting steps. A few seconds later, her rage ebbs away and slowly, the world around her expands. She closes her eyes, exhales and listens to the low trickle of the stream, the faint chirping of birds and the small sobs of…

Maka turns around to see Soul holding her back. He greets her with a sigh and tilts his head back, where her dad is. He’s kneeling and tending to the three teens, where the oldest one is holding the two for dear life. The younger girl is mostly unharmed besides a few bruises and cuts, and the boy is no longer unconscious, though they are having trouble getting up on their own.

“I’m fine, sis—”

“Don’t ever do something this stupid again, you hear me?!” the older girl yells as she kept them close. “Both of you!”

“Is it dead?” the boy asks as he tries to get up, only for the older girl to push him back down.

“We got it pretty good,” Soul says as he reaches out to the oldest teen, his hand glowing with celestial power. She tenses at first, but calms down seconds later and lets Soul approach, refocusing on the boy on her lap. 

“What were you thinking?!” She hisses at him. “Why did you keep running at it, do you have a death-wish?! It would have torn you to pieces, eaten you—!”

“It was a monster. An abomination,” the kid responds, and Maka finds his calmness eerily odd. “Something that shouldn’t exist in this world or any—”

The older girl grimaces and gives him a harmless shove which sends him toppling with a stifled complaint before addressing Maka, Spirit and Soul; “They’re an idiot that hit their head, ignore them—” the older girl cut hi-them off before leaning into their ear and whispering something.

As Spirit and Soul heal them up and make some small talk, Maka gives the three a closer look. The girls are dressed in what Soul would probably call ‘cool streetwear’ whereas the other one only has a travelling cloak on him. They had a few backpacks between them, but other than that… 

“Are you from the city?” Maka asks.

“…Yeah,” the older girl says and wipes her nose again. “I’m Liz, this is my sister Patty…” Her eyes narrow at their third member. “And this little bastard here is…” she hesitates.

“Kid,” they say.

Soul does a double-take. “Kid?”

They nod.

“Just Kid?”

“I go by that, yes.”

Soul gives Maka a look and she shrugs.

“Why are you out there? Did you get locked out of the city?” Spirit says as he casts his last healing spell on Kid, who is starring unblinkingly at the light that comes from it.

“Something like that,” Liz says with another grimace. “Anyway, thank you and uh… Do you guys wanna get… paid now or…?”

Maka humphs. “We don’t _need_ money to help someone in need. It’s what anyone would have done.”

Soul gives her a light poke. “Not that we’d be _complaining_ if you had any.”

“Hey, you’re a Paladin,” she mutters back with a pout and he gives her a nonchalant smirk.

Liz scoffs but smiles. “I owe you one.”

“You’re all healed up,” Spirit says as he gets up and dusts off his outfit. “Still, what are you doing out here? Are you looking to get into Melissia?”

“We’re trying to find Father,” Kid immediately says.

Liz’s eyes go wide and she quickly gets up, standing between them and Kid. “Uh yeah, you see…”

“I got separated from Father and I’m trying to find him,” Kid says as they try to get past Liz. “I thought I had found him, but the connection is still weak-”

“Yeah, so, what they’re trying to say is…” Liz speaks over them “Uh, we’re heading out to their dad, who is at, uh, Stinpoli, so we’re planning to get there…”

Kid’s dad? Maka guessed all their families were in Melissia, but maybe he had gone out for business… She didn’t think the sisters were related to Kid, but maybe they were adopted or living together. In any case…

“Stinpoli,” Spirit repeats and eyes them from head to toe. “You’re going to Stinpoli like this?”

“Uh, we might have run into a few difficulties…”

“We can join you,” Maka says and feels her excitement build up again.

“Hey now,” Soul says. “That’s on the other side of the continent.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like there’s another place we can go,” Maka says. “If Melissia’s closed down, the other big city that is still looking for adventures is Stinpoli, right?”

“Unless you want to go and get eaten in the Great Outback, yeah,” Spirit mumbles before he speaks up; “But I agree, you should join us if you want to travel that far. Even supposedly safe places like this aren’t so safe anymore…”

Liz’s face falls. “Hey, uh, this is a private… We’re dealing with, uh, a… sensitive matter.” She pauses and looks behind them, over the torn tents and the forest the monster disappeared into, her tail nervously flickering. “I guess having some more company around would be good… But what’s in it for you?”

Maka hesitates, but manages to let out an indignant huff. “I just think helping people find their parent is a good thing to do.”

Liz eyes her over. Maka doesn’t let her expression fall, even if Liz probably realised that she’s not a dragonborn, as those were completely covered in scales and looked more like sentient humanoid lizards.

Maka offers Liz her hand with a confident smirk. “So, what do you think?” 

Liz scoffs but finally grasps her hand with a scoff. “Sure. Welcome to the party, I guess.”

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

Tsubaki surveys the remnants of the destroyed camp. This spot of the forest is often used to pause and prepare for the journey by long envoys sent out of Melissia. She’s not sure what creature could have caused this much damage, but she is not surprised by the damage it caused. Camps like this were temporary, meant to take advantage of the guarded and safe woods nearby; escorts of businessmen of minor nobles are particularly prone to pause here as to rearrange their caravan for the protection of their patron and to have a place to talk outside of the city’s prying ears.

If anything, Tsubaki is surprised there’s not more of them around the area, leaving Melissia after bribing the guard or other officials to make them exempt from this strange, recently imposed lockdown. She herself was lucky to be training outside when the measures were announced, even if said training was after waking up in a panic in the middle of the night…

Tsubaki follows the stream and sees an off-putting pile of flesh. She approaches it carefully and wrinkles her nose from the smell. The ‘corpse’ looks like someone took a few people and turned them into a slurry, though it’s still in the very early stages of decomposition. Its top seems to have been cut by something sharp, and there are a few other marks across its body and along the stream where it lies. A thin tendril is caught between rocks, its tip singed, but not with fire…

Spell casting. And from the shape and resulting texture…

“Eldritch blast,” she says as the bushes shake behind her. “It’s a warlock. I’m sure of it.”

“See!” comes a loud voice as a short boy jumps out of the foliage, “I told you there were a ton of them around here!” 

So he had. He had also showed up in the middle of the day, uncharacteristically sober like a wet dog, and said he was going to kill every single warlock in the world. Tsubaki is used to Black Star’s sudden bursts of enthusiasm — that’s how he convinced her to train him as a rogue in the first place — but said bursts were never this bloodthirsty. Plus, even with the evidence of an eldritch blast, something didn’t sit right with her.

“But why fight? This thing doesn’t look like a summon, and if warlocks are what’s causing this, it doesn’t make sense…”

“I don’t care,” Black Star yells as he strides by the remains and kicks them aside. “I, Black Star, are going to get rid of them all and I’ll become the adventurer who’ll surpass God!”

Tsubaki holds back a sigh as she examines the riverside for tracks. “Why did you decide to go after warlocks today? I thought you wanted to take down a dragon first.”

Black Star takes too long to answer, and Tsubaki worries he’s left without her. She looks up to see him face the camp with his arms crossed, his back turned to her.

Tsubaki thinks he didn’t hear her when Black Star finally answers; “I just think it’ll be easier to find them than a dragon. Not that I’ve given up, I’m Black Star, I will—”

His current boasts melds in with all those she’s heard before, and Tsubaki shifts her attention back to the dirt. She might as well have not got an answer. The ground, however, holds some answers as to what happened here.

“I found some tracks,” she says and points to the forest. “They’re fresh and headed that way. Probably whoever survived this—”

“Then what are we waiting for, let’s go after them!” 

And with that Black Star is off, and Tsubaki yelps before she catches up to him and holds him back by the collar. “Not like that! Use stealth, like I taught you!”

Black Star pouts. “Fine, if you wanna be a spoilsport about it.”

Tsubaki does sigh this time as she and Black Star disappear into the foliage. Even with his small size is an advantage and despite his outrageously spiky blue hair, Black Star has the stealth like a master rogue when he wants to. Then again, Black Star was a collection of contrasts, from his exuberant larger-than-life personality, to his monk training, to the star tattoo on his shoulder that had her draw out her dagger when they first met. But he is enjoyable to be around, though relentless in asking her to train him in how to be a rogue. Tsubaki has been doing so through weekly meetings outside Melissia’s walls, but with the rate Black Star has been going, she won’t have much to teach him soon. Not that she has completed all of her training either…

Tsubaki hears chatter and breaks her train of thought to carefully approach the source of the sound, closely trailed by Black Star. They’ve almost made it out of the rest and onto a country road that slopes around a craggy hill.

“So, if we keep smaller roads we can make it to a small town nearby, to resupply and rest, _I_ could sure use a warm bath,” comes a man’s voice and Tsubaki makes it to the edge of the foliage to get a better look.

The owner of the voice is an adult man and the oldest of their group. His clothing is fine yet functional, his robes more colourful than the typical drab earthly colours of most adventure’s outfits, while still allowing him full range of movement. His hair is shoulder length and well-kept, and he is clean-shaven. All that and the violin on his back would give the impression that he was one of many bards common on the road, had it not been for the sizable axe also strapped on his back and his lack of armour. 

So, he is either a barbarian who wants to be an aspiring musician, or a bard who is overly enthusiastic about fitness.

“You say that every time,” another one grumbles, a tall girl unlike anything Tsubaki has seen before. She looks like a cross between a dragonborn and a human, with dragon-like legs, horns, but a human face partly covered by scales. Like the man, she has no armour and is carrying an axe.

Tsubaki bites her inner lip. Another possible barbarian. 

“I dunno, I could go for a bath soon,” the guy in heavy armour says. “Man, we were supposed to cash in and sleep in today…” He’s carrying his helmet under his shoulder and Tsubaki mistook him for a changeling because of his pale skin and white hair until she remembered actual changelings were rarely seen untransformed. So, the boy was also human, albino, and the owner of a well-designed armour, one that even her daggers would have trouble penetrating, and one that would probably cost an arm and a leg to obtain. An oddity, but Paladins were known to stand out like that. Besides, he was less odd than Tsubaki’s extended armoury, all of them a small treasure in their own rights and the source of much jealousy and confusion from other rogues who knew her as some odd half-elf girl that camped outside of Melissia.

“I vote in favour of a warm bath too,” another girl says, one of the two tieflings of the group. She was the tallest and probably oldest of the two, with long blonde hair and, unlike the others, dressed in civilian clothing, as if she’s walking down a city street. The only indication that she was an adventurer was the crossbow on her back and the hunting knife in her belt. “What do you say Patty, won’t that be nice?”

The other tiefling, Patty apparently, dressed in a similar way but with a ukulele instead of a knife, nodded but stayed back with the final occupant of the group, the boy in the black cloak. “Watcha doing?”

“Trying to focus,” he says as he closes his eyes, only to stumble on a rock and open them again while stumbling forward. His uneven gait and lack of clothing besides a black travelling cloak made him as strange as the part-dragon girl. He had no visible weapons on him, and Tsubaki doubted he was hiding any under his cloak. So either a civilian or a spellcaster… and the best candidate for a warlock. He did seem to be the only spellcaster between them, besides possibly the tieflings.

She turns to sign Black Star to discuss their approach, but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Listen up!” she hears her companion’s voice from where the group is.

Oh no.

The group freezes and Tsubaki follows suit after seeing Black Star standing ahead of them on the dirt path, atop a large rock. He has his short sword out, a hunting knife he’s told Tsubaki was a gift from one of his guardians, and was using it as a microphone. “Is there a warlock among you?!”

The two barbarians and paladin stare at Black Star in confusion as the older tiefling’s eyes widen and she quickly puts her hands up. “What, no—! Who are you?!”

“Warlock?” the cloaked boy asks.

“Weird spellcasters,” the paladin says as he crosses his hands and steps between them and Black Star. “They make deals with weird Gods and Faye for power, or something like that.”

“Oh, that.” The boy raises his hand and gives a small wave to Black Star. “Yes, I am one.”

Tsubaki’s jaw drops. Has he just… That’s not how warlocks operate. He didn’t even seem to know what that was seconds ago!

His compatriots look just as shocked, with the half-dragon girl letting out a loud ‘huh?!’, the paladin boy looking at him as if he’d grown a second head, and the man’s frown deepening.

The older tiefling flinches and runs her hand down her face as the younger one giggles. “Fucking death wish…”

There is something very wrong here, but as Tsubaki is about to reveal herself and tell Black Star to stand down, he’s already lunged at the cloaked kid. He moves quickly and stays low on the ground, a standard approach when attacking a spellcaster, but the boy simply stares, not even bothering to prepare a spell.

Black Star comes within melee distance, plants his feet to the ground and throws his fist forward, his knuckles crackling with ki. His fist hits the boy’s sternum and his whole body tenses, shoulders angled sharply upward.

Tsubaki is holding back a strangled yell when Black Star readies his hunting knife. “Wait-!”

The boy slightly raises his head as the knife comes at him, something he should not be able to do as Black Star has just disrupted his ki, his life-force, and he stumbles back. The knife’s edge grazes his shoulder, ripping fabric and skin, but the wound is shallow.

“Hey! You weren’t supposed to move, that’s cheating!” Black Star says as Kid steps away from him. “What, did you cry out to your little God to help you out?”

The warlock boy is ignoring him, looking down at his own body and flexing his fingers. “You… disrupted my wavelength? That shouldn’t be possible, how—?”

“I’m the great Black Star, nothing is impossible for—!”

Black Star cuts himself off as the boy raises his palm and a black skull-like tendrils emerge out of it and towards him. Black Star jumps out of the way, and the tendrils miss his arm by a few centimetres before hitting a tree, leaving scorched bark behind.

The boy keeps his hand up. “If you attack me with your wavelength, I will do so with mine,” he says with a faint smile.

“Your aim sucks! I dodged that easily!” Black Star shouts back. “Or are you going easy on me, warlock boy?”

“Not a boy. My name is Kid, what is yours?”

“I’m the great Black Star and I’ll be the one to kick your ass and your stupid patron’s ass too!”

Kid’s face darkens and the surrounding air seemingly grows colder as they scowl. “You will not hurt Father—!”

At this point the situation has spiralled so much out of control that Tsubaki gets out of the bush to break the fight and promptly rolls sideways to avoid a crossbow bolt aimed at her head.

The attacker, the older tiefling, scoffs and reloads her bow. “There’s more of you?! What are you, bandits or something?!”

“I’m not—!” Tsubaki says incensed, but stops to draw her sword and deflect another bolt, this one thrown by the younger tiefling.

Tsubaki takes a second to look between Black Star and the sisters before she hears the older’s crossbow click as the string is put in place, and lunges at her. The older girl curses and lets her crossbow drop as she takes out her knife and they lock blades.

Upon being this close, Tsubaki’s training tells her to look over her opponent and identify any potential weaknesses, but she can only focus on the contrast of her blue eyes against red skin, and a hint of fangs as she bears them in annoyance. 

“Hey, listen babe,” the tiefling says, and Tsubaki manages not to blush by focusing on the near-manic tone of her voice. “I’ve had a long fucking day, so call off your idiot and call it a day? Pretty please?”

“I’m trying to!” Tsubaki says and pushes herself forward, but she only manages to press their faces closer, and maybe she shouldn’t have spent those couple of months away from civilization and people with her only companion being an over-exciting halfling kid.

“Try harder!” the girl shoots back and Tsubaki twists her blade and breaks off their standoff, her face red. “Aw, did I tire out the little assassin?” the tiefling says in a mocking sign-song voice, and Tsubaki’s face only grows hotter.

“Look, I don’t want this to continue, so help me—”

A roar distracts them both, and Tsubaki turns to see a pile of bodies where Black Star and Kid fought. The dragon girl and paladin have fallen over each other and on top of the red-headed man whose hand is holding on to Black Star’s belt. Kid is standing close-by, looking confused. Black Star is struggling against the man’s hold, enough to slightly drag him out of the pile, when the belt buckle gives out and he tumbles forward into Kid, throwing them both to the dirt. 

The half-dragon girl gets up while her paladin struggles to right himself up thanks to his heavy shell-like armour, like an upturned turtle. The barbarian brushes herself off and lunges at Black Star again, only for him to grab Kid and roll out of the way. The girl loses her footing, and the inertia carries her forward, with Tsubaki stepping back moments before she barrels into the tieflings.

“Sorry!” the half-dragon girl quickly says with a sheepish look and Tsubaki decides that, battle prowess notwithstanding, they’re not dangerous, or cultists. Now if she can only convince Black Star…

Tsubaki runs to where Black Star and Kid are, only to see them standing still. Kid is on the ground, Black Star is on top of him, and they are both eerily still.

“Crap…” Black Star says as Tsubaki gets close enough to see his blade has gone through Kid, between their shoulder and chest. “I didn’t mean to, we were falling and—”

“You idiot…” Kid breaths out, looking at the blade with a mix of horror and disgust.

Tsubaki takes a sharp breath and calls out to the others. “Healer!”

The man, the boy paladin, and Liz perk up and untangle themselves. The paladin is the first one to approach, and he flinches when he sees the injuries. “Ah crap, that doesn’t look good.”

“Of course it doesn’t look good, it’s off-centre!” Kid yells in anger.

Black Star blinks. “Uh, what?”

“Ignore them,” the paladin says as he takes off his gauntlets, “it’s probably shock—”

“I am very much coherent!” Kid shoots back. “And how can you not be outraged, look, it’s so horribly to the side, quickly take it out and stab me in the exact opposite spot—!”

“Yup, definitely shock,” the paladin speaks over Kid before he addresses Black Star. “Ok, take it in three, two, one—!”

Black Star takes the blade out and falls back as the paladin’s hands glow with celestial light and Kid’s wound seals. Once it’s completely healed, he falls back with a sigh. “No more stabbing each other ok? I’m running low on Lay Hands and it’s barely noon—”

“Black Star!” a voice rings out and Tsubaki jumps in place.

On the other side of the road is a battered pickup truck crammed with people, the most prominent being an orc whose frame towers over the truck’s moderate hood. The driver, a bandaged woman, has already opened the door and is rushing at them, closely followed by another human man with an unhealthy pallor and an unsteady footing.

“ _Black Star, you are grounded forever!_ ” the woman yells.

Black Star looks between her and the limping man, his expression uncharacteristically uncertain. “I—”

“What do you have to say for yourself?!” the woman continues, and despite her harsh tone, she seems to be on the verge of tears. “Oh, it’s good luck I put that tracking stone on the knife, do you know how worried we are?! You just… vanished, what if you had been trapped inside the city or…?!”

Black Star looks at a loss of words and instead holds an annoyed Kid up by the collar. “Look, I found a warlock!”

Upon which Kid bites him and the two end up wrestling in the dirt.

Tsubaki sits down on the ground and takes a deep breath.


	11. Welcome To The Group Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha gets off the pick up truck after hearing Naigus’ yell, Chestnut following in tow. Marie lifts herself up to look over the rear panel, but stays on the back as a sleeping Stein is sprawled over her.

“Did you find him?” Agatha calls out, as she can only imagine the stress those poor two must be going through, first one of them dying, then their kid going missing...

“Stop that, both of you!” Naigus yells again and Agatha sees her wrestling a stout halfling boy with wild blue hair out of the clutches of a taller but skinnier black-haired kid. “Black Star, that enough—” Naigus cuts herself off after she drags Black Star away like an unruly cat and focuses on the other kid. “Do I know you?”

“You’re the kid from last night!” Sid speaks up, and his voice is hoarse and slightly slurred and the two kids stop to stare at him. 

The child in question throws a quick glare at a now-pouting Black Star before looking up at the adults and their mouth becomes a perfect ‘o’ in recognition. “You’re the shapes!”

Sid and Naigus give each other confused looks but before any of them can speak, a teenage tiefling steps between the kid and the adults. “Monk cop?! Why are you here, did you take a vacation or something?” She gives him a once over and grimaces. “I mean, you look like you could use one.”

“I thought you died,” Black Star mutters, his voice low enough that Agatha only hears it because she’s standing close to Naigus.

“Uh,” Sid hesitates.

“He got better,” Naigus says matter-of-factly. Black Star stares at the two but eventually crosses his arms with a pout.

“Woah, woah, you all know each other?” the only adult of the other group, a red-headed man, asks as he walks up to them. “That little devil is your boy?!” The boy in question sticks out his tongue, though he still refuses to leave Sid’s side. “He attacked us out of nowhere—!”

“Spirit?” comes Stein’s voice from the pick up truck as his head pokes over the rear end with Marie’s help.

The man in question stutters and pales. “Stein?!”

Marie looks between the two groups as she slowly gets off the truck, the whole vehicle shifting with her weight. “You know them?”

“Oh, just him, an old school fling,” Stein casually says, not bothering to lower his voice. 

Spirit stutters again as the—half-dragon? Agatha has not quite seen a person like her before—girl glares at him. 

“You know him _too_ , papa?” the half-dragon says with a huff,

“You have a _daughter_?” Stein asks moments later.

“That doesn’t matter,” Naigus speaks up before she turns to Black Star. “What do you think you were doing? Running off and then attacking people—”

“They said they’re a warlock!” Black Star petulantly says, pointing a hand at the other kid.

The accusation hits Agatha like a truck. A child?! 

‘ _Eibon!_ ’ Agatha calls out to the void, just in case. Despite how much she loves she cannot deny he has some blinds spots, especially before the two met...

“ _I can assure you, I have no connection to this and find it as distasteful as you do,_ ” Eibon quickly says, though not without some guilt implying he may have considered it at some point. “ _Though I am curious as to how this happened. A warlock is formed by a contract, and having a child involved only jeopardises the process—_ ”

“That’s a serious accusation—”

“They said so themselves, ask them—!”

“Hey now, that doesn’t mean they are, I mean, you were _bluffing_ , weren’t you Kid—?”

“Dude, we literally saw them cast Eldritch Blast—”

As the rest of the group argues at Black Star’s accusation, Agatha focuses her attention on the kid, who is watching the argument with mild disinterest.

Magic has a habit of leaving a trace, and that is true across all spellcasters though being able to perceive that trace and its origins are a lost art, with Detect Magic being a pale remnant able to detect the most basic of information. But, with Eibon’s help she can briefly tap into his power and perceive magic and its true origins. She would have to concentrate though, as unlike wizards, sorcerers and other magic-light professions, the source of a warlock's power is far subtler, and she often confuses it with a cleric’s—

But Agatha doesn’t have to focus at all. The child before her reeks of the Far Realm, with a hint of necromancy.

“ _Stay back_ ,” Eibon warns her, rather redundantly. 

The child however, seems to have noticed her, for they are now staring at her. 

“You’re one too,” they start with a frown, and Agatha freezes, hoping they’re not heard, what with the others loudly talking over each other, “but you’re not with Father.”

She’s not sure how the kid could have detected that, but normal warlocks aren’t drenched with their patron’s power and there is something terribly amiss here.

Agatha dreads to ask, but cannot stop herself from doing so. “...Father?”

The kid gives her a long unnerving look, before straightening their back and clearing their throat, which makes the others quiet down. “My name is Kid. I’m not sure how or why it happened, but I was dragged away from my home, from Father, to…” they glance around and their lip curls, “here, and I am looking to find a way to get back.”

“ _So we have a motive on their end. But what is the patron getting out of this?_ ” Eibon’s analytical and arguably cold thoughts help anchor Agatha, who sympathises with Kid’s plight.

Spirit is still frowning at them, though his expression has turned more sympathetic. “And you thought the best way to do that would be by becoming a warlock?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” the kid tilts their head in perfect innocence. “And I’m only using Father’s power, however limited.”

‘... _Eibon_ ,’ Agatha calls out again, rather desperately this time.

“... _I heard._ ”

‘ _They just referred to a Great Old One as their **father**._’

“ _They did._ ”

‘ _But you’ve told me Great Old Ones can’t have kids_.’ Which certainly made family planning easier on their part, but maybe Eibon misunderstood her question back then...

“ _Not unless something has gone very wrong. Or…_ ” Eibon trails off, and next time he speaks his voice comes out a tad sadder. “ _Ask them their Father’s name_.”

Agatha mentally nods. “And what is your Father called?” she asks as the rest puzzle over the kid's answer.

“ _Death_.”

And things get from bad to worse.

Knowledge on the Great Old Ones is limited. Even with centuries of thorough census data and exhausting archival efforts, cosmologists do not know every Great Old One who operates in the material realm, and not all of them have warlocks in the first place. Word of them are spread only via their warlocks, and many only appear for brief time periods, sometimes resurfacing only after a millennia or two before fading back into obscurity.

Eibon is _technically_ the most well-known among them, as he has gone through so many names and forms that Agatha suspects a good chunk of _‘identified’_ Great Old Ones have been Eibon’s different personas throughout the centuries.

But there was one Great Old One arguably who is more infamous than her multifaceted husband.

 ** _Death_**.

Their warlocks appear in times of great crisis, in eras future historians call _‘dark’_ or ‘ _terrible’_ or many other unpleasant names. True to their name, their followers are known for targeted murder, and assasination. However, _unlike_ the hitmen at the highest echelons of the Thieves’ Guild, Death’s warlocks forego any effort at discretion, and because their targets are often nobles, captains of industry or other high-value individuals, their crime scene often becomes a bloodbath and is talked about years later… 

Why just the other day the radio had a special on the 5th anniversary of the _‘Capone Massacre’_ , where the most powerful crime organisation of Stinpoli had been wiped out overnight, bodies piled on each other and their leader mutilated in a way characteristic of an eldritch blast. Even stranger is that some of Death’s identified warlocks have roamed the countryside to slay very specific monsters, often ignoring infestations of mind-flayers to go after a reclusive lich before they are released from service with their newfound powers. And it is not uncommon for a new batch of warlocks to emerge and take care of a previous generation who has become troublemakers.

Her husband is quiet. ‘ _Eibon?_ ’

 _“... ‘Something has gone terribly wrong’ it is then._ ” Eibon sighs and Agatha feels fear mixed with pain and sadness, like tearing the scab of a wound. “ _It’s a long and unpleasant explanation. But I am afraid they are telling the truth.”_ ’

‘ _...Are they dangerous?_ ’

“ _I would be lying if I said no._ _But not to us_.”

‘ _But if they are just a kid…_ ’ Potential eldritch abomination or not, this sounds to her like a case of a kidnapped child.

“ _It would explain what happened the other night. If they were somehow… wrestled away from the Far Realm and brought here, I have no doubt Death would have tried their best to get them back. If anything I’m surprised there wasn’t a full in rip across the realms._ ”

‘ _Which would be catastrophic for us._ ’ Agatha concludes. Which means that they have to get Death’s... child back to him as soon as possible. Though that still leaves the mystery of who or what brought them here, and why...

“You’re not off the hook yet, kid,” Spirit says, though like previously, he seems more concerned than angry. “Why didn't you tell us you were a warlock?! That serious, no, that’s _dangerous_ , do you even know what you signed up with?”

“I’ve told am looking for my father—”

“There are other ways of looking for people—”

“I know where he is! I just don’t know how to get there!” He frowns and points at Agatha. “And I don’t understand why everyone seems to be so disturbed with ‘warlocks’, especially since she is one too!” 

And before she can stop herself, Agatha says: “In my defence, he’s my husband.”

“And he’s my father!” Kid shoots back.

“ _And as always,_ ” Eibon sighs, “ _Death manages to complicate things_.”

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

Spirit is a man of adventure, but he never expected one of his adventures to have him crammed to the back of the pickup truck with a dozen other people, which include but are not limited to his daughter, her ‘friend’ who he doesn’t trust as far as he can throw him, an old _‘school fling’_ , and, apparently the wife and child of Far Realm deities.

Oh well, at least he won’t run out of conversation topics.

“So was there a ceremony?” Marie, the giant orc that is in their group for some reason Spirit didn’t quite catch the first time she was introduced, giddily asks.

“Well, we couldn’t exactly get married in a church or a mayor’s office so we had to improvise,” Agatha nonchalantly says, like she’s in a tea party and not in the back of an overburdened pickup truck with a bunch of fugitives — Spirit very much caught the bit about Stein doing some sort of illegal ritual to bring back Sid, and honestly, he’s not surprised. “Though Eibon surprised me by proposing when I was off in an astrological expedition by having a recently discovered star pulse out _‘will you marry me’_ in morse code.”

“Aw, that sounds sweet,” Tsubaki says and Spirit can’t help but agree. If you were going to date some extra-dimensional deity, they might as well put some effort into it.

Agatha blushes. “Oh it was, _though_ it did lead to some funny papers coming out about that star…” She sighs dreamily. “But yes, since we couldn’t have a proper ceremony per se, I communed with him to reach his realm and we had it there…”

“Communed,” Spirit repeats, and something about the way she said that word seems funny. “… So you can, what, ‘visit’ him?” he asks, making sure to angle his body away from the kids and wiggled his eyebrows at her. They are a couple, after all.

Agatha’s blush deepens, and she stifles a laugh with a nod. “In spirit only, not in body, unfortunately. And it is not something any warlock can do. It took Eibon and I months of trial and error to settle down on an approach…”

Agatha trails off and gets a faraway look to her eyes, which Spirit has picked up as a sign she’s talking to her… husband.

Oh well, it’s a big world out there, and love can bloom in the strangest of places. His daughter is proof of that.

Spirit settles back and takes in the breeze. Sid, Naigus, and Black Star are crammed in the front seat, and Spirit occasionally catches some muffled words from them. Probably Naigus scolding Black Star, with Sid occasionally jumping in. Next to him, Marie yawns then stretches, Stein sprawled on top of her, snoring. 

Meanwhile, the kids have formed their own small conversation circle. The two tiefling sisters sit side by side, and the youngest is preoccupied with sticking her head out to the side while the oldest keeps watch. His darling daughter and that Soul boy are next to them and occasionally talk to the sisters. Tsubaki is squashed between Soul and Marie, and though she keeps stealing glances at Liz, she stays silent.

… And the weird kid is sitting cross-legged next to Liz, with his eyes scrunched shut and a look of intense concentration.

Spirit pokes Agatha with his foot. “That’s what they’re trying to do, right?”

Agatha sighs and leans close, her voice low. “Yes, but I wouldn’t keep my hopes up. Even after we finalised our methodology, it took even more months for us to be able to speak to each other outside of dreams—”

“Father!” Kid exclaims and sits upright, making Liz yelp and the others look at him strangely. “I can hear you, can you hear me?”

As Kid continues speaking to thin air, Agatha’s face turns impassive. “Then again, I should be used to getting surprised.”

“… And I found a few other odd people…” Kid babbles on letting everyone in their sided-conversation. “No, no, I’m sure they’re harmless! I’m in the back of a truck — oh, it’s a big metal thing that transports people from one place to the other…” They pause, as if listening. “Father says hi,” they politely say with a small wave, before going back to talking to thin air.

“You can communicate by thinking…” Agatha offers and Kid pauses before scrunching his eyes again and going silent.

Spirit holds back a small laugh. This is a very strange situation he’s found himself in, but, as a fellow dad, he empathises.

Agatha hums, then goes silent and gets a far-away look on her face. Spirit thinks not much of it, until he feels a gentle prod in the back of his mind, as if he’s been spiritually poked.

Confused, Spirit tries to do the mental equivalent of poking back only to feel his perception shift, his sense of hearing doubling but only being met with silence…

‘ _Hello_?’ Agatha’s voice echoes through his newfound sense. 

Everyone besides him, Kid, and Stein turns to look at Agatha. The car slows down as Naigus glances behind her before refocusing on the road, as Sid stops halfway through his lecture. Thanks to Spirit’s years of adventuring and encountering a lot of weird things that has him merely raising an eyebrow.

‘ _Agatha?_ ’ Spirit tentatively asks. ‘ _Why is your voice in my head_?’

‘ _Ah, so it works! Excellent! — Oh, one at a time please this is a one-way connection —’_ She cuts herself off and raises a calm hand like a teacher facing an unruly class. ‘ _Yes basically, this is simply an ability warlocks with patrons from the Far Realm have — No one’s quite sure **exactly** how that works but it’s similar to telepathy — oh, one second my husband wants to try something…_’

Before Spirit can protest, because having his mind poked by a professor is one thing, and said professor’s eldritch abomination of a husband another, he feels his second hearing expand, as he moved from a tunnel to a stadium.

_Patty: Ooo_

_Liz: Patty?_

_Patty: Oh hi sis! I can hear my own voice like two times!_

To demonstrate this, Patty laughs both in the real world and in the weird auditory hell Spirit just found himself in.

_Maka: Hello?_

_Soul: Hello voices in my head_

_Tsubaki: Um, hi everyone?_

_Marie: Hello all! This is a bit strange, but I’m glad to be here—_

_BLACK*STAR: **SUP LOSERS**_

_Soul: Dude we can all hear you, you don’t have to yell_

_Naigus: Please cut me out of this, I’m driving_

_Sid: me and Black Star too, we’re still talking—_

_BLACK*STAR: THAT’S NOT FAIR_

Spirit feels the connection widen and take on a strange ambience, as if he’s gone from a stadium to an even bigger stadium but with a storm gathering above it. The others go silent as well, and though he shouldn’t be hearing anything, there’s a low rumble in the background, like a pen scratching paper.

_Agatha: Eibon, dearest_

_Agatha: What did you do_

_Agatha: If you just turned my mind into a radio—_

_???: **H̶̩̟̩͎͓͈͂́͑̇̋̎̈́͒͂̄̚͝Ȩ̷̼̝̦̭̠̥͂͋̇L̴̲̮̾̇L̴̨̖͚̝͓̳̰̱͈̙̮̻͗͝Ṑ̸̞̜̠̱̣̟̯̙͈̲̙̅̋͑̄͋̋̈́̕-**_

Spirit physically reels back at the sheer sound, his mind instinctively shutting off the connection and his hearing collapsing to a single dimension, as it should be. The car sways as Naigus lets out a curse and a flinch.

“The hell was that?!” Soul asks. “You all heard that right, some weird voice _—_ ”

“That was my husband,” Agatha says as she rubs her temples. “He wants to introduce himself and he promises to _be more careful_ , as you’re not as used to his presence as I am,” she adds, though the last scolding part is aimed at that same vast entity that almost ruptured Spirit’s eardrums.

Spirit feels the same gentle prod again, and after quickly checking over Maka, who seems equal parts hesitant but intrigued, lets his hearing expand like before.

_Patty: Hi!_

What follows is basically another roll call, during which Agatha glances at Kid. The child’s gaze refocuses before he eagerly nods at her and closes his eyes again.

_Kid: H̶e̴l͢l͟o͞,҉ ̨e͟v͢e̸r͢y̕o̶n̕ę._

_Patty: Hi Kid! Oh your voice is all crackly~!_

_???: **H̨̢͓͚͕͙̲͚̣̬̅̿͊̽̇̾ͥͧ͘̕͜͢͟͝eͭ̀̎͐̈͐̑̊͏̵̨̨͠͝҉̱͍͉̲̝̻͕ͅy̔̆͛̿ͨ̓͑̒͏̵̨̢҉̴̳̘͇͇͖͇͙ͅa̴̢̡̧̖̗̠̰̥͍͎͓ͥ͌̅̾̎̇ͬ̚͘͟͜͡!**_

Thanks to his recent experience, Spirit does not instantly recoil this time, though he does get the same level of existential dread. The car veers off again.

Naigus: I’m leaving, unless you want me to crash the car. Only contact me in the case of _imminent_ death.

Soul: … What the fuck was that

???: Ǧ̢ŕ͞eͬ͡ė̡t̴ͪï̧n̑͜g̒s̔ ͗ͯ͘͜e̚v̍e̵ͯr̷̀y̛̏oͮ’ͤe̎͡,ͨ͏ ͗͟Ĭ ̃͏a̵̎m̶ͯ ̈́͘Eͦi̚͡bͮ̕o͗͘n̷̂.̴̎ ̴̽W͛͡h̡͒o̧͋ ̃͡y͊̕o̔͝ű͜ ͐h͋͢e̢ͪa̛͊r͗͏d̔͝ ̨̔j̶ͧu͆̕s͆҉t̶ͤ ̴͆n̅ō̢w̢̄ ̔̕wͮ͡â̕s̏͡ ͂͞D̊͝e̓a͋t̷̀hͪ͠,͆͞ ̢͌w̷̋ḩͯó ͐͡a̎͏p̧̅p͂a̔͠r̈́͘e̵͊nͣ͟t̓͟l̔͏y̢̓ ̑͡i͗s̛ͭ ̢̌h̡̒a̎͟v̈̕į̆nͤ͟g̚͏ ̶ͦṕ̴ȓ͏ǫ̏b̑͟ĺ͠e̡͌m̡̊sͫ͏ ̏͏w̚̕i̡͐ẗh́͢ ̆͘r̴̊e̎͏g͒͠n̅͜i̒͝n̡͒g̀͝ ̷ͩh̡̑i̿͘s̚͟ ͑p̛ͬŗͧe̊͘s̓͞ĕ̢n̶ͥc̢̎ē̷ ̛͋i̧͛n̶̽

???: **Ơ̘ơ̝p͏͚s̭͜!̬͜ ̴̖…͚͜s͖͠ ̸͍t̴̥h̡͙i̻͞s͡ͅ ͏̞b̢̝e̩͢ṯ̨ţ̳ęͅr͏̞?̨͉ ͓̕Ḭ͝ ̟͠d̠o̗͝n̦͡’̪͝t̛̹ ̬͜ŗ̫e͓͟ạ̧l̶̥l͇͟ỵ͜ ̰͠d҉̖o͏͖ ̷͇h̷̗i̙͠s̢̼ ̧ͅṃ̵u̷̗c̯̕ḩ͔ ̰͝a̘͞n̢̯d̴̦ ̢̘e̶͉x̜͝c̬͠i͖͘t̤͞e̶̬m̪e͈͞n̛͙t͇͘ ̤͘g̯o̮t̵͍ ̛̙t̶͚h̡̥e̡̞ ̸̟b̵̞ȩ̩t̮̕t͖͢ȩ̘r̨̙ ̛̱o̸̮f͇͘ ̨̟m̢̰e̷̲~͎͟!̣͜**

The voice Spirit now recognises as Eibon is low and oddly calming, like watching a raging storm behind the safety of a very thin window. The other voice however, is like someone took a squeaky toy and put it through a shredder.

_DEATH: **I̘͘ņ̠ ̴̙a̩͟n̹͠y̳ ̠c͍͢a̧̘s̳̕e҉̠,͏̪ ̖͞h̫͠e̙͘l̖ļ͈o̖͡ ̢̼e̵̬v͙͝e̴̞r͔y҉͉o̭͘ṉ͝e̲͢!͚̕ ̶̯I̯͝’̥͞m͏̦ ͖̕D̨̗e͈͠a̵̪t͚͞h̸̼,̢̯ ̠͢K͏̯i̧̼d͍’̷̩s͚͜ ҉͖f̶̫a̸͕t̘͜ḩ̱ḙ̷r̴̻!͍͘ ͘ͅṆ̢i̴̟c̠͘e̴͇ ̷̩t̴͍o̷͚ ҉͙m̦e̢̖e̦͡ṭ͘ ̬͠y̡̳o̷̩u͏͉ ̝͜a̛͉ļ̺l̥͡~̵̝**_

_Soul: …. What’s wrong with your voice_

_DEATH: **W̶͖h̢͚a͇͡t̡̻ ̭͞ḭ͝s̢̳ ̴̻w̪͘r̞͠o͏̭n̡͔g̸̘ ͖͝w̸̯i̦͜t̻͟h͉͟ ̴̞m̸̙y̘͡ ͏̗v͕͘o̙͝i̦͜c̴̩e̡̪?̧̟**_

_Patty: Are you a clown Mr Dad?_

_DEATH: **U̷͚h҉̝’̹͜ ̺͢T͔h̫͢a̱͡t̻͞ ̨̫i̷͈ş͎ ̲m͏̫y̟͠ ̤f͍͡a̷͍m̵̥ị͠l͎̕y̛̙-̭͝f̶̟r̢͚i̭͞e͇͠n̡͈ḍ̶l̫̕y͙͠ ҉̟v̩͠ơ͖i͉c͖͠e̵̮**_

_EIBON: Y͜o̢u̕ ̷o͘f͘ ͞a͘l͝l̢ ̧p̨e͢o̸pl͡e͘ ̵h̵ąv͜e̶ ̢a͢ ҉f̷a͢m͜i̶l̴y͏-̢f͜r͢i̢e̡n̷ḑl̶y̶ ̸v͢o̕i͞cę?͘_

_DEATH: **E̛̗i͔͞b̜͞o̰͠n͉!̧͎ ̖͠I̷̩ ͇͝k̸̬n̠͘o҉͕w̢̜ ̩͠w̷̜e̷̩ ̢͉h͏̗a̶͕v̬͘e̸̠n҉̻’̴̥t̸͓ ͕̕t̵̙a͎l̷͉k͏͚e̛͖d͏̹ ̵͇f̴͓o͔r̦ ̲s̵͓o̴̬m̶͎e̷̥ ͕͠t̴̲i̢̩m͚̕e̠,̗ ̵͙ḇ̧u͙̕t̙͞ ̫͞y̥͡e͏̥s̸͖,̸̝ ̰͟I̙͘ ̸̜d͏͓o̘͝ ̨̹h̴̝ḁ̴v͏̻e̵̯ ͉͟a̳͢ ̞͞f̵ͅa͔͜m͇͞i͖͢l̥͢ỵ̶-͏̺f͓͞r͏͇i͍e͏̞n̖͝d̛̯l̸̜y̮͟ ̤v̵͇o̗i̫͞c̹͝e͏̳!̛̰ ̵̼I̩͘ ̴͓h̝͞a҉ͅv̠͞ȩ͇ ̶͎ạ͟ ̢̹c̴͎u̱͝t̖͝e̶̥ ̶̯l̘͟i̭͡t͏̟t̖͘l̶̦e͏̯ ̠͜c̖͢h̶̪i̱̕l̛ͅd̸̲ ̶̟n̶̻o̵̟w͓͠!̠͜**_

_Patty: Your voice is funny Mr Dad!_

_DEATH: **W҉̦h̸̥y͍͝ ̜͠I̖’̬͜m͍͠ ̶͔g̡̤l̡͎a҉͚d̖͞ ͓y͚͡o͈͡u̦͝ ̞t̴̺h̙͟i̶̙n̞͟k҉̤ ̪͝s͔o͈͟!͏̯ ͇B̴̳u̷͖t̨͍ ̱͠w̹͘h͕͞o̡͈ ̨̝a̸̜r̮̕e͍͢ ̲͘y͈͠o͖͝u̫͟,̨̖ ͏͉l͉̕i͙͞t̵̠t͏̠l̞͡e̯͝ ̡͓ǫ͇ṇ̕e̴̱?̶̱**_

_Patty: I’m Patty!_

_Kid: S͏h̷e͞’͠s̶ ͘L̴i͞z̢’͟s͢ ̛s̷i̢s҉t͞e͟r.̡_

_DEATH: **O̵̫h̴̘ ̼͠y̨̺ḙ̕s҉̩,͍͘ ̧̱I̶̩’̨̹v̷͕e̡̪ ͔h̘e̘͟a̺̕r̡̗d̵͉ ̮͘o̮͠f̥͜ ̶̬y̜o͇͝ų͍!̭̕ ̙͞T̨͕ḩ̗a̗͝n̠͝k̶͕ ̝͠y͍͡ǫ̼u̦͞ ̧̹P̢͙a̡̰t̶̰ṭ̕y͓͝ ͖̕a̵͓n̟d͚͠ ̴ͅL̹͘i͠ͅz̡͇ ҉̜f̟o̜̕ŗͅ ̶̺h̨͕e̛̱ḽp̥͜i̛̜ṉ̸g̢̲ ̷̟o̧̹u̗͞t̛̠ ̵̙K̺͠i̸̘d̸̝~̝͝**_

_Patty: No worries Mr Dad! We’re having lots of fun!_

_DEATH: **W̷’h̵͙y̶̠ ҉̲I̧̯’͏̗m̧̱ ̷͈g͏̮l͙͡a̶̦d̶͇ ̢͓t̘͟o̟͞ ҉̼h̟͝e̩͜a̭r͍̕ ̪͞t̝͟h̰͡a̷ͅt̗͜!̴̘**_

_Liz: … Uh_

_DE’TH: Oh, and you must be Liz!_

_Liz: Uh… yeah. Hi. Mr… Death?_ Hey kid, what do I call your dad—

_Soul: …Whispering doesn’t work, we can all hear you—_

_BLACK*STAR: HEY DEATH GUY, SO ARE YOU LIKE A GOD?_

_DEATH: **.̨̫.̞͝.̧̱I͈͢ ̷̤s̴̙u҉͇p̰͡p͙͡o͏̪s̛̝e̶̱?̙͘**_

_BLACK*STAR: AWESOME LET’S ARM WRESTLE—_

_Sid: Absolutely not. And uh, hi… Mr Death? Do you have a …title?_

_DEATH: **.̯͝.͏̣.͏͓M̶̗o̵͉ș͡t̷̤ ̛̲p̛̫e̸̯o͇͢p̡̞l̡͈e҉̭ ̯͠o̷͍f̧̩ ̢̜y̵̦o̲͟u̪͟r̯̕ ̪͞r̮͟e̯a̺͝l̤͠m̡̱ ͏͎ç̗a̻͟l͇͞ḷ͜ ͔͟m̸͎e͏̺ ̸̭L̼͘o̷͙r̢̤d͇ ̤͠D͙e̼͝a̡͎t̸͕h̶͖!̶̲ ̛̖B̢̝u̠ṭ̸ ̨̜M̨͔r͏̖ ̸͓D͈͡a̸͈d̝ ̳͘h̢̩a̮͟s̮͠ ͏̻a̢̖ ҉̲g͇o̙̕o̼͘d̝ ̡̯r͙͢i͏͚n̷̥g̡̩ ̴̭t̼͟o̷͈ ͏̪i͉͜t̫͟,̸̞ ̤͞d̦͟ǫ̭ḙ̛s͏̬n̳͠’̣̕t̷͕ ͉͡i̷̯t͎͡~̷͖?̖͝**_

_Sid: … Sure. Hello, Lord Death. I’m Sid Barrett, polic — uh, currently unemployed._

_DEATH: **O͏͙h̛̪,̞͠ ̷̥I̷̘’̳͝v̢̦e̵͕ ̱h̷͚e̟͘a̢̰r̬d̪ ̭͘o̸̮f̤ ̴͓y͇͝o̡̹u̵̝ ̴̫t͔͞ơ͔o̱͜!͚̕ ̰͠T̵̗h̤͠o͈u̱͠g̴̳h̟͠,͇͟ ͈y̴̠o̴̼u̡͕…̢͈ ̰͠m҉̰o̱͝ş̘ț̛l̲͡y̷͉ ̗͢m̳o̵̠v͔e̙͢d̞͡ ̷̣K͇i̭͞d̞͠ ̸̲ą̲b̸̼ơ̥u̥̕t̢̫?̠͢**_

_Sid: Uh, we tried to get them to safety._

_Kid: O̕ḩ,̵ ̵I̕ ͘h͘a̕d͝…͝n̛o̸ ͞i͢d͘e͢a͡.͜_

_Sid: Really._

_Kid: Y̶e͏s̕,’ ̶y̨o͏u̵ ͠an҉d͞ ̵M̨s̴ ̛N̶a͡i͘g̷u͘s̛ ̴w̴e͘r͟e͟ ̶j̴u̵s҉t̡ ̴s̶h̵a̴p̕e̵s͞ ͢a̵t͏ ͘t̶h̶e͜ ̷t͠i͏m͠e͟._

_Marie: Um, hello Lord Death? I’m Marie, I don’t know your child much, but I hope you too reunite soon! I can’t imagine the stress…_

_DEATH: **H͎̕e̪͝l̶͓l̢͚o̥͡ ̡̰M҉̲a̸̙ŗ͕i̴̩e̫͡!͎͢ ҉͔A̜͠ṋ̡d̴̙ ̸̻i̲͝n̹̕d̪͘e͔͝e̪͞d̻͢…̯͢ ̡͖T̡̞h̛̺o̦͡u̡̻g̬͞h҉̥ ̫͝I̢̭’̧̠m̛̙ ̡̰v̤͡e̮͟ṛ̴y̱͠ ͞ͅh̶̬a͔͡p̴͙p̹͞y̶̻ ͔͟t̩̕o͙͞ ͙͜b̴̙e̡̲ ̦͞a̬b̨̜l̷̺e̴͓ ̠͝t̢͎o̼͡ ̘͝ţ͚a̸ͅl̴̥ķ̞ ̳͞t̛͕o͏̻ ̩m̸̫y̺͢ ͖͟l̟͞įͅt̡͉ṯ͜l̛̹ḙ ̧̤k̴̠i̤͞ḏd͇͟o̡̝ ̲͜a̦͝g̵̭a̶̪i̦͟n҉͎~̦͝!͔͘**_

And because Spirit finds himself increasingly sympathising with that dread-inducing voice, he lets out a small agreeing hum, which immediately has him on the receiving end of the eldritch being’s attention.

_D’ATH: **A̧̘n̲͟d̷̠’̲͟w̢͖h̗͜o̜ ͉͞a̹͢r̜e̥͜ ̵͖ỵ̛o̶̰ṵ͢?͏̬**_

Now, having such an immense, dangerous and all-consuming presence focused on him should be terrifying… Spirit however, immediately sees the opportunity for something far more _fun_. 

_Spirit: Spirit Albarn! Barbarian-bard at your service, and Maka’s — that’s my darling little angel’s name— dad!_

_Maka: Hmpf—_

_Spirit: But you can just call me Spirit~ or any other name that you want._

_DEATH: **O҉̪h̵͉?̛̘ ̸̺W̯͟e̵̙l̸̩l̢͚ ͔͘i̷̞t̢̙’̶͚s̯ ̷̖ņ͖i͏̤ç̺e̸͎ ̨̤țo̖͞ ̨͕m̘͘e͖͝e̸͖t̛̙ ̳͘y̝ơ͓u̡̘!̛̻ ̦͞A͍̕ņ̯d̢̘ ̫͡c̹͞a̧̹n̴̘ ͇͜I̢͎ ̢͔j̮u̧̱s̛̗t̻ ̶̘s̸̰a̬̕y̮͢ ̥ḭ̸t̮͠’҉̱ş̟ ̼͝g̰͡r̸̥e̖͞ạ̕t͔͝ ̗t͏̹o͏̦ ͍̕m҉̝e̯͞e̷̜t̨̘ ̡̝a̳͢ ̠͜f̫͟e͇͡l͕͘l̵̳o̬͢w̷̪ ̻͘f̮͜a҉̖t̠h̸̹e̷̮r̬~̥͝**_

_Spirit: You too~! So, never having spoken to an eldritch being before, what do you look like Death? I’m curious._

There’s an awkward pause; Spirit shrinks a little as suddenly all eyes are on him and his conversation. Death however, seems to notice no …difference at all and continues chattering in that all-consuming, but friendly way.

_DEATH: **O̧ͅh̴̯ ̛͎ḻ̢e̶̙t̨̖’҉̰s̱͞ ̠͢ş̱e̢͉e͓.̡̼.̸̺.̶̗ ̨̥I̠’m̶̳ ̛͔i’̺m̨̫p̭͠e̵͍r҉̳c̷̜e͏̫i̶̺v̰͟’҉͇b̻̕l̨̰e҉̺—̷̮s̗̕o̟ŗ̜t̶̰ ͎͘o̶͙f̫͡ ̪͢l͓͜i̟͝k̝͠e͈͠ ̷͙a͈͝ ̵͕v̶͕o̭͢i̡͔d͏̳?͈͢ ̧͇I̧͉ ̴̮s҉̯u̜͟p̥p҉̹o͎͜s̨̮e͈͜ ̩w͍͢o͚͝u̴̗l͖d̻͢ ̴̯b̖͘ȩ̣ ͏ͅt͙̕ḫ͘e̸̻ ̭͜u̡͖h̸͉,͏̬ ͈͟c̻l̳̕o̢̺s̛̲e͘ͅs͏̲t̨̥ ̡ͅa҉͓p͖͢p̙͢r̶̹ơ̗x̷̮i͖̕m̡̻a͏̬t̳͞i̺͘o̜͜n̨͖ ̯͡i̢̯n̛̩ ̲͜ḩ̣u̧̲m҉͚a̮n̵͓ ̠͡ļ̹a̤͘n̲͢g̝͞ư̝a̰͡g̡̰e͏̥ ̹͜a͏̩n̯͘d̮ ̼̕u̦͢n̶̻d̵̤e̫͞r͎ș͢t̯͘a̤͟n̬͟ḓ͘i͕͡n̷̠g̷͓?̰**_

And hey, Spirit is a single dad, and his advances weren’t immediately turned down, so Spirit decides to go for it, ignoring the faint sound of Soul and Maka’s combined groan.

_Spirit: Because well, I was thinking that ’f you are anything like the night sky above that you must be the most **beautiful** thing out there, _Lord Death _~_

He tries to make his voice sound like the embodiment of a wink, but he is only met with silence and a collective groan from everyone besides his target.

_Liz: Oh my gods…_

_Soul: By Tyr’s name… Sorry Kid…_

_Kid: W̨̳h͚͡a̟͜t͍?̨͖_

Death lets out a thunderous boom of laughter as his overwhelming attention shifts somehow even further onto Spirit.

_DEATH: **B̳͟o̵̰ļ̞d̷̮ ͏̘o̱f̠̕ ̸̝y̤͡ơ̥u҉͓!̢̯ ̸͈Ḇ̵u̼͢ț ͚͘u̵̞n̨̙f̻͢o̱r̪͘t̛̝u҉͚n̻̕a̸̜t͉͠e̘͡ḽ͘y͏̞ ̲͟I҉̬’̹͘m̨̻ ̘͝n͚̕o̞͢t̢ͅh͏͓i̶͇n̸͉g̯͘ ͞ͅl̸̙i̧̘k̨̲e̡͖ ̷̗t̘͝h̨͇e̱̕ ̶̲n̠͘i̛͚g̛̩h̛̻t̢̲ ̶̩s̷͕k̙̕y͔͢ ͉—̬͡ ̻͞L̜i̧͍k̭͞e̶̪ ̨͈I̢̭ ̺͞s̛͔a̤i̢̟d̪̕,̧̦ ̸̫i͓͘m̠̕p̨̣a͖͠s̢͙s̫͠i͔͡v͙͠ę̹l͚͟y̦͠ ̪͢i̧̹m̳̕p̷̖e̥͝r̷̯c̤͠e̟i̫͠v҉̜a͏̲b͏̪l̡̼e̴̟~̷͓!͎**_

Spirit sees his chance and sinks his teeth in it.

_Spirit: Unfortunate indeed. Because I would **love** to perceive certain parts of you~ _

He drops his voice into a _sultry_ rumble, flashing unintentionally the image of himself leaning closer towards the great presence who seems _hilariously_ shocked into silence.

_Stein: I’m trying to sleep, and Spirit, he’s literally the one who almost tore the sky in half, can you keep it in for five minutes_

Back in the real world, Stein raises a jerky arm and adjusts his screw before falling back asleep in an increasingly uncomfortable looking position. Maka has a deep blush and has buried her head in her knees while Soul looks torn between laughing and gagging. Marie is blushing and deliberately looking away from Spirit, whereas Agatha stares at him with newfound comradeship.

_Spirit: Come now, the guy was worried for his kid! That’s perfectly understandable, I’d do the same for Maka any day of the week! But, yes, Lord Death, maybe after this talk we could, you know, have a **private** chat~_

The car comes to a screeching halt within a dirt sideroad that leads to an empty plot overgrown with weeds, a mountain on one side and a plunging fall to the sea on the other.

“So, we should be far away by now,” Naigus murmurs as she opens her windows and addresses the back of the pickup truck. “What’s everyone’s plan?”

“I wish to return home,” Kid immediately says. “And to do that I’m supposed to go to a place called… Stinpoli?”

“Yeah that,” Liz groans. “Me and Patty are tagging along for… reasons.”

“I have been searching for a way to get there myself,” Agatha mutters with a worried expression before she looks at Spirit. “Our best bet would be to team up, as that’s how experienced adventurers do it, correct?

Spirit nods, but he frowns at the idea of a bunch of kids and some nerdy professor trekking on the other side of the content all alone. “Sure, but it sounds like you need a reliable escort of seasoned adventurers to help you out.” He grins. “And you’re in luck, my little Maka just finished her training~!”

“We’ll join you,” Sid adds after he and Naigus exchange a quick look.

“But I thought you three should stay low…?” Marie asks with a worried look.

“It’ll take some time before we’re officially listed on the wanted list,” Naigus says and crosses her arms. “More than that, there are too many things that don’t add up.”

Spirit frowns, unsure at what she’s referring to. He knows Sid is an illegal… undead thanks to Stein, but no more than that.

“Whoever attacked me at the station was looking for you,” Sid says at Kid, who slightly frowns, while Liz goes even paler. “I thought everyone involved in… what brought you here died, but since someone went through the trouble of attacking the station…”

“That was _you_?!” Agatha asks. “I heard something like that, but the rumours mentioned a warlock…”

Sid sighs. “Unless a warlock learned how to cast Fireball, I doubt it.” 

“And isn’t it _convenient_ that Sid was barred from resurrection?” Naigus adds with a deepening scowl.

Agatha’s eyes widen, whereas Spirit sits back with growing dread.

Liz slumps with a long-suffering sigh. “ _Great_ , now we’re dealing with a conspiracy too.”

“I’m in it to find who killed Sid,” Naigus says before she fingers her knife pouch. “And give them their just returns.” 

“Me too,” Black Star adds as he crosses his arms like Naigus does.

Sid puts a hand on their shoulders, and the two slightly relax. “It’s obvious whoever is behind this is still alive, doesn’t care for casualties, and will keep coming after anyone who could pose a threat to their plans. We have to put a stop to it.”

“I’ll help too—!” Marie adds but immediately cuts herself off with a blush. “What I mean to say is that this is awful, we can’t let whoever did this to you go free!”

Spirit glances at Maka, whose expression has only grown more determined at Sid and Naigus’ accusations. Next to her, Soul looks slightly nauseated, but nods along with Marie.

Spirit holds back a fond smile. She has her mother’s heart, and hey, he’s done craziest things in his youth and without adult supervision. He just needs to keep a closer eye on the two.

“Hm,” Stein groans as he comes to and readjusts his screw. “I think I’ll come with you too. I think I need to go to Stinpoli to reapply for a licence…”

Naigus narrows her eyes. “…You _realise_ you’re a fugitive from the law, right?”

Stein makes a dismissive gesture. “Nothing a forged identity can’t fix. Trust me.” 

Spirit waits for Stein to continue, but he does not elaborate.

“Then what are we waiting for?!” Black Star yells as he jumps on the hood of the pickup truck and raises his fists. “To the capital!”

His raised fist is joined by everyone else’s and their voices echo as one. 

**_“To the capital!”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Leo (snarfables)** :  
> After months of blood sweat and tears we finally got through this; I hope you all enjoy as much as me and Sleepy have enjoyed creating and making it. This is my first REAL (not counting the excessively queer LOTR Sauron Oneshot I made for my friend) foray into fic writing and I gotta say, it has been more than a blast to write and plan with Sleepy over here, they're amazing, seriously. Check out the rest of their fics dear god! They deserve more love!  
> We hope you all stick around for part 2; seriously with what we've planned out it's going to be a banger of an ending! Thank you for reading and please, enjoy.  
> P:S: While I love fic writing I'm actually more experienced in Roleplay, particularly 1x1 roleplays. I'm also super gay and super desperate for more people to roleplay with me so uh? Hey, hit up my discord (soft fuzzy man#1312) and we can maybe discuss some things... And you'll get to meet my oc, who I would ABSOLUTELY start a cult for.'
> 
>  **Sleepy (SleepDeprivedFemale)** :  
> And that's the end of part 1, where the group managed to escape Melissia and avoided the mysterious threat that would have ended their adventure early!  
> I apologise for Agatha taking up a lot of screen time for being a weird mix of canon character/oc. I’m basically using her for worldbuilding and explaining some of the more eldritch aspects of the world via Eibon, so whenever those topics come up she takes centre stage. I hope she’s enjoyable and a good fit with the cast 😅  
> (also pls rp w Leo, they’re great and in need of a good rp partner)
> 
> \--------------------  
> We hope you enjoy what’s in store for this series! Life is busy right now, so we can’t promise anything concrete for a posting schedule, but Leo and I have an outline, so absolutely worst case scenario (and that would be something like, we don’t even post something for next year’s resbang), we can spruce that up and post it. In any case, though not 100% complete, we hope the story is satisfying to read nonetheless. We appreciate any feedback you have so far, and do check out the rest of the Resbang 2021 fics.  
> Thank you for reading and stay safe out there!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, kudos and particuarly comments are appreciated! Also, if you wanna talk about Soul Eater and its eldritch lore/characters with other fans of the genre, come on in on the Soul Squad discord (https://discord.gg/ZvBZW6q, 18+ because there is a nsfw channel and the occasional stray sex joke), where we talk about our headcanons, Eibon, the various forms Lord Death would take, Eibon, whether Arachne/Asura was actually the good guy all along, and various OCs and AUs.


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